


Ron Weasley's Diary

by IllusionEvenstar



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Disabled Character, Discrimination, M/M, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-22
Updated: 2017-11-24
Packaged: 2019-02-05 12:04:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 30
Words: 23,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12794166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IllusionEvenstar/pseuds/IllusionEvenstar
Summary: An AU Harry Potter fic as Ron views life through his mentally challenged mind





	1. I Am A Retard

**Author's Note:**

> Old fic I wrote in 2006
> 
> I was reading a Chinese children’s novel one day about the days in a life of a mentally disabled and suddenly, as I kept reading, the characters in the book began to change into the characters from Harry Potter. They blended in so well, that I had to write it down.

            When I was in my first grade, one day a teacher took me to an office and told me, “Do whatever they tell you to do.”

            Later, another teacher pulled my hand and told me to sit down. She also said the same thing, “Do whatever they tell you to do.”

            She first gave me a few blocks to make a circle, then told me to draw a picture, and later asked me some questions. I tried real hard to make a circle, I tried real hard to draw and I tried real hard to answer her questions.

            But no matter how hard I tried, she kept marking an [X] on a piece of paper she’s holding.

            A few days later, the teacher said to me, “You should be in Class 18.” So I picked up my bag and said to my former classmates, “Goodbye, everyone.”

            And they said, “Goodbye, Ronald Weasley.”

            My teacher took me to somewhere very far away from my former class. There was a huge tree, and three classrooms.

            I went into one of them.

            I tried once to go back to my former class and peeked at my teacher from outside the window during recess. A real tall boy came over and said, “What are you doing back here?” The other short boy beside him said, “Yeah! Go back to your special class, you retard.”

            They were laughing, so I laughed with them.

            That was the first time I heard people calling me a ‘retard’.

            I didn’t know what ‘retard’ meant, but every time someone said it, they would always laugh. So I laughed with them happily.

            Students in the new class were very little, yet every class had two teachers. I studied from first grade to sixth grade in Class 18. Then one day, a flower was put on my uniform, and when we went to the hall I heard a lot of people talking and singing.

            Back in my class, my teacher held my hands with her red sodden eyes and said, “You’ve graduated.”

            So I graduated. Soon, Mother took me to another school.

            Mother said, “Now that you’re in seventh grade, there will no longer have any special classes. You sit tight and study real hard, listen to what the teachers tell you and don’t give me any trouble.”

            Mother works in the shop selling waffles, and she’s very busy. The next day, I went to school on my own. I tried a number of roads until I’ve finally found that high school.

            When I reached the school gate, a very fierce male teacher who had a lot of hair and a bushy beard shouted at me and said, “You retarded or what? Deciding to show up ten minutes after eight, what a git! Go stand at the corridor!”

            I stood there for a while until an old-looking female teacher came up to me and explained to the fierce teacher, saying, “This is my student, Hagrid. He’s not very bright, you see. I’ll take it from here.”

            So I went into ‘First Year-Slytherdor’.

            During recess, three boys surrounded me. One of them had very shiny yellow hair and was saying, “The professor told me you’re mentally disabled. I get it, you’re a retard! From now on, you are to listen whatever I say, understand?”

            I nodded my head.

            He knocked my head and shouted out loud, “Hey, everyone, look at the retard!”

            Suddenly a boy came up to me and scolded the yellow-haired boy angrily, “Hey! You think you’re so smart now, huh, Malfoy?”

            The yellow-haired boy was grinning, “Ho, boy! What a class we have! Not only we have retards, we have scarfaces!” So saying, he grabbed a basketball and went out of class.

            I looked at Scarface and chuckled, a feeling of warmth churning in my stomach. He was almost as tall as me with quite messy hair, and green eyes behind a pair of very round glasses. His scar was quite huge, running from the middle of his forehead down towards the right side of his cheek, shaped like that symbol I saw on Flash’s chest whenever I watch the cartoon Justice League. I saw his nametag read ‘Harry Potter’, so I said in a low voice, “Harry Scarface.”

            He also said in a low voice, “Ronald Retard.”

            And just like that, we became friends.


	2. I'm Happy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you find the education system and the school in this story a little non-fitting, remember this is AU and I’ve mixed a little bit of Western and Eastern style into it. There. That should clear it up.

            “If someone calls you a retard, you’re supposed to be angry, don’t laugh,” Harry Scarface told me one day.

            I nodded. But then I thought of something, “If it’s you who call me that, I won’t be angry.”

            Harry Scarface nodded too.

            But still, I immediately ran into trouble.

            During French class, our French teacher Prof. Flitwick taught us how to say ‘Hello’ in French. I followed exactly what everyone read ‘Bon-sure, Bon-sure’, yet the teacher said I read it wrong.

            He stood in front of me, lowered her head and let me see his lips.

            “See? You have to pronounce the J and the Sh at the same time and not read out the R.”

            He looked almost like those kissing fish I see in TV.

            I tried real hard to follow him. I curled my lips so high that my drool almost sprayed out, yet he still wasn’t satisfied. He yelled angrily, “What is it with you? Why can’t you learn a single thing I’m teaching you? You retard!”

            I don’t know if I should be angry or not.

            I asked Harry Scarface about it during recess and he answered me with a troubled look, “Teachers are different from us; they can do whatever they want. There’s nothing we can do.”

            Our English teacher, who’s also our class teacher—Miss Minerva McGonagall—treats me better. She gave me an exercise book with a lot of lines in it and asked me to copy words for the day’s class chapter. While the others read and discuss the chapters, I’ll be copying them.

            I’m really good at copying. When I was in grade school, my teacher would let me copy words, line after line. I’ve forgotten what those words were though, or else I could write them for Harry Scarface to see and prove that I’m really good at copying.

            To be honest, I love school. Summer holidays are boring with nothing but TV to watch. Mother never lets me go to the waffle shop. I want to help her serve waffles, but she never agrees. She would always scold me and say, “Do you want the whole world to know that I have a retarded son?”

            That’s a really tough question. I never know how to answer that. I always thought that if Mother knew that I was a retard, then she didn’t have to give birth to me. But maybe she didn’t know that I would be one.

            When I’m at school, I have Harry Scarface to talk to. Sometimes, girls would come and talk to me, but I can’t really understand what they’re saying, so all I can do is laugh.

            Our class monitor is the world’s most beautiful girl named Hermione Granger. Harry Scarface also agreed that she’s pretty. But she’s a fierce girl and often scolds and yells at Draco Malfoy—the yellow-haired boy. Sometimes she scolds me, but she never calls me a retard. She remembers my name.

            My job in class is to get water. The students in my class are heavy drinkers and they drain their cups within minutes. Prof. McGonagall would always say, “It’s class time, so the kitchen won’t have many people. Go get us water before they run out of it.”

            I would then grab the kettle, run past each class, past the field and go into the kitchen to get fresh water. On the old oak tree in the field there are a lot of birds singing and they sound good. Sometimes I would stand under the oak tree and listen, and would sometimes giggle, ‘coz there’s one bird who sounded just like my French teacher.

            I love school. Everyday when I carry my bags to school and do my copying, carry water for the class and eat my lunch, I feel happy.

            Hermione told me one day, “Ronald Weasley, I envy you.”

            I only understood half of what she said.

            She sighed and continued, “Honestly, being a retard ain’t so bad. No worries, no tuition, and no need for all that exam bother.”

            Now that, I definitely have no idea what she meant. But when she said the word ‘retard’, I wasn’t angry. I didn’t think she was laughing at me.

            I’m still happy.


	3. I Have to Study Hard

            Prof. McGonagall came to Mother’s waffle shop one day and kinda gave her a fright.

            “I came for a family interview. Ronald must’ve forgotten to tell you.”

            Mother turned and gave me a look, then sighed and said, “I know that kid’s a little dumb, but I told him to be good. If he’s naughty, feel free to beat him.”

            Prof. McGonagall shook her head, “No, no, he’s very good. Although his mentality is not high—about 70, if I’m not mistaken—and belongs to the ‘Learning Deficiency’ category, but if he’s taught well, he can improve.”

            Mother wiped her sweat a little and replied, “I hope you can teach him well. How about some waffles? You look like you need something for the stomach.”

            Prof. McGonagall left without eating. Mother’s waffles are very good actually, especially when she pours two big spoonfuls of maple syrup.

            As she watched Prof. McGonagall leave, Mother said to me, “See how much your professor cares for you, Ron? She even came to our home. She said you’re…well, whatever category was that she said, I forgot. You have to study hard if you want to improve.”

            Like, no duh. Of course I want to study hard. Whenever class starts, I sit up real straight and listen real hard, but I don’t understand a friggin’ thing. I don’t even understand what is written on the blackboard. So sometimes I would fall asleep.

            No more sleeping in class. I gotta start studying hard.

            So I did. During Prof. Binns’ History class, I took out my textbook and pointed at the words with my finger, counting them one by one from left to right. Once I’ve reached a hundred, I counted again from one. I counted very hard and I never slept.

            When Prof. Binns started writing words on the blackboard, the students began copying them into their books. So I quickly took out my pencil and looked hard. Finally I found three words that I know. I lowered my head and wrote _big_ , _one_ and _man_.

            When I wanted to look for more words, Prof. Binns had already rubbed them off and wrote other stuff.

            I drew beards on the people in my book with my pencil and drew guns for them. I know Mother is going to give me a wallop if she knew I drew these, so I quickly erased them. I tried looking for more words and found the same _big_ , _one_ and _man_ words there. I quickly copied them on the next page.

            For this class I didn’t fall asleep. I’m glad.

            Harry Scarface said, “You can’t learn anything in a normal class. You should be in special class.”

            “Mother said that there’s no special classes in seventh grade or any other high schools.”

            “Then it’s the government’s fault, they owe you too much.” Hearing Harry Scarface say that kinda shocked me. But don’t worry, I won’t look for that ‘Mr. Government’ guy for revenge.

            I said, “Prof. McGonagall came to my home that day and told Mother that if I study real hard, I can improve.”

            I don’t know what ‘improve’ means, but I bet it’s a good thing.

            Harry Scarface chuckled, “You are so naïve!”

            I took out my book and showed him the words that I’ve copied in every page. Harry Scarface patted me on the shoulder and said, “Actually, judging by your heart, you’re way smarter than most people.”

            I chuckled along with him. I like him patting my shoulder.


	4. Circle All of the A's

            To tell the truth, I’m not afraid of being scolded. But if someone scolds me about something I don’t know or understand, I’ll be very afraid.

            Like that day, Prof. McGonagall looked rather furious, and I grew scared. The whole class must be scared because their heads were low and everyone was quiet.

            Prof. McGonagall’s voice was very high and loud, not like the usual. She was shouting as she flipped the test papers on her table, yelling, “75, 58, 33, 40…Humph! What kind of result is this?!”

            She flipped the last paper and her voice was as high as those Chinese opera singers when she cried, “Zero! A huge empty zero! Ronald Weasley, why are you in my class?!”

            How am I supposed to know? The school put me here.

            Again, she exclaimed, “For this revision exam, our First Year-Slytherdor got the last place among all the classes, thanks a lot to Ronald Weasley.”

            As she threw the paper off her table, she looked as if she wanted to burst into big fat tears, “I get laughed and mocked at by the other professors…I’m so jinxed…”

            I might be scared but I have to get the paper back. It was the test on Math and on it, other than my name, was a total blank.

            I wanted to write something. I really do. I just didn’t know what to write. I thought long and hard, but by the time I got an idea of what to write, the bell had rung and my paper was taken away.

            During recess, Prof. McGonagall didn’t look angry anymore. She drank a whole glass of water, then signaled me to get some more.

            She pointed at my test paper and said, “Tomorrow, there will be another monthly test, Ronald. I’ll teach you how not to get anymore zeros.”

            It was quite easy, really. Just look for the parts that had the ABCD-s, then draw a circle on all the capital A-s and I’m done.

            She chuckled to herself and said, “This is definitely a no-brainer. In every test paper, there would always be a multiple-choice question section, and in every multiple-choice question, some of them have got to have an A for an answer. That way, you might be able to guess a few; if you’re lucky, you might get even higher marks!”

            I definitely can draw circles, so I promised her I’ll draw as well as I can.

            For the next day’s test, my mood was great because I won’t be as bored as before. I finally had something to do. At every part with the ABCD-s, I drew a very round circle on the A-s. When I accidentally drew a crooked one, I erased it and drew again.

            When it’s time to get back the papers, Prof. McGonagall wasn’t angry anymore. In fact, she was all smiles when she told the class, “I’m such a gifted teacher. Do you know how much Ronald Weasley got for his Math test, class?”

            Then she announced loudly, “12! 3 correctly guessed questions for all multiple-choice sections! Ronald Weasley, you’re a genius!”

            I laughed awkwardly.

            The most awkward time was during Biology class. Prof. Sprout scolded the class, saying, “Multiple-choice question number 3, everyone got the wrong answer. Only Ronald Weasley got it right. Are you all retards?”

            Draco Malfoy didn’t look very happy when he muttered, “That weasel only made a lucky guess.”

            Prof. Sprout got even madder, “If you think you’ll do any better, then make your own lucky guess. If you get it right or wrong, your marks shows how lucky you are.”

            I’m glad I could come to school and have teachers teaching me how to study and how to take exams. But I can’t be too proud.

            I know what ‘proud’ means. It means someone saying that they understand _everything_. I can’t be proud, because I know I don’t understand _anything_.

            Harry Scarface said, “You know what, Ron? Some people don’t even understand that concept!”

            See? I don’t even understand what Harry Scarface is trying to say.


	5. I Made A Flower

            “Come on, professor! We’re not babies anymore! This is high school!” Draco was complaining loudly again at our Arts teacher.

            Today our Arts teacher, Prof. Trelawney gave us a red wrinkly paper and told us that we’re going to make a carnation as a present for our mothers on Mothers’ Day.

            Prof. Trelawney glared at Draco and asked, “Being a high-schooler doesn’t mean you don’t have to honour your mother. Your mother wasted her life raising you!”

            Draco didn’t say anything more. He lowered his head and cut hard on the paper with his pair of scissors.

            I like Arts class. I took my pair of scissors and cut my piece of paper carefully. The idea is to cut sharp edges around them and tie them all up o make it into a shape of a flower.

            But my paper did not become a flower but four pieces of torn paper. Prof. Trelawney walked to my class, took a look and said, “You’ve cut it the wrong way.”

            Prof. Trelawney’s nice. She took my paper and helped me cut the way it should, then told me to tie it myself.

            I tried to hold the paper stacked above each other like a sandwich and tie them up just like everyone else. They make it look so easy, but my paper felt rather weird. They just won’t stay where they should be.

            “Ronald, come here. You hold and I’ll tie them for you,” Hermione came over to me with a piece of metal string in her hand.

            My face was feeling quite warm when I held the paper and let her help me tie the metal string round and round my hand. She’s so pretty and so kind; I really wanted to invite her to my house for waffles and ask Mother to pour her three big spoonfuls of maple syrup.

            But I didn’t dare say a word. After tying it, she pulled and stretched and arranged a couple more and soon my paper became a nice big flower.

            “You must give this flower to your mother, understand?” So saying, she taught me that once I handed the flower to Mother I must say “Happy Mothers’ Day”.

            She told me to repeat it a few times, and after making sure that I’ve memorized it, she walked away.

            Harry Scarface had finished his flower too. His was way bigger than mine, almost as big as a soup bowl. He didn’t have parents anymore—both of them went to Heaven—but he made it all the same. He said something about wanting to put them at his mother’s resting place. I know what ‘resting place’ means. It’s where people die and sleep under the ground for a very, very long time. That’s where Grandpa and Grandma sleep. Harry Scarface said, “My mother isn’t alive anymore, but I know she suffered a lot for me.”

            I know what ‘suffer’ means too. It’s got something to do with crying.

            He then said to me, “Your mother must have suffered a lot for you.”

            I know she’d ‘suffered’ a lot. She cried a lot when I was younger, but I don’t remember for what though. She was always crying and crying and crying and finally stopped when I went to first grade. I still don’t remember what she was crying for.

            After school, I held the flower in my hand and kept on memorizing, “Happy Mothers’ Day.” Draco passed by me and threw his flower into the trashcan.

            He turned to look at me and said, “Hurry home and give that stinking flower to your mother, you retard, so that she can feed you some baby milk!”

            Maybe he didn’t know that I don’t drink baby milk anymore. Now I eat waffles. Could it be that he had no mother? Why did he throw away the flower?

            But I didn’t stop to ask him. If I say anything else I might forget the “Happy Mothers’ Day” that I’ve memorized.

            Once I’m home, I saw Mother making waffles and three customers in the shop. I held out my paper flower to her and said, “Happy Mothers’ Day.”

            Mother seemed shocked when she took the flower and put it in her apron pocket.

            One of the customers said, “What a nice boy you have!”

            “Oh, pish-posh! Just as long as he doesn’t aggravate me to death,” Mother replied, but she was smiling when she said that.

            The next day I saw Mother’s apron gone all red. It was then I knew the paper’s colour came off and it dyed Mother’s apron into a mess of red. I told that to Mother, but she said, “Don’t worry about it, love.”

            She took out the paper flower and stared at it for a while before putting it back into her pocket. And for the next few days, it stayed in her pocket.

            Next time I’ll make her another flower.


	6. For Harry Scarface

            Why and how did Harry Scarface have his scar, I don’t really know how to say. He told me before that it was some terrible car accident that caused it, and it was also the cause of his parents’ death. I remember him telling me that he now lives with his two godfathers, whatever that means, and also him saying, “We both are bad-lucked people; you’re a born bad luck and I’m a fated bad luck.”

            I’m glad that we’re both bad-lucked. I think of Harry Scarface as a brother. He treats me very well and would always buy me soft drinks. If anyone calls me a ‘retard’, he would glare at him or her angrily.

            But he was very, very afraid of P.E. class. If I had one lung smaller than the other, I’d be afraid. That was also another place he got hurt from his car accident. When you run with one lung smaller than the other, it slows you down, and the pain inside would make your face look weird.

            The weird thing is whenever the P.E. teacher Prof. Hooch said, “You don’t have to run. Go rest under the tree,” Harry Scarface would be very angry and he was say in a very, very low voice, “I _can_ run.”

            So during every P.E. class, I accompanied Harry Scarface. Usually I can run very fast, and it’s rather hard for me to run slow. So I grit my teeth, slow down my breathing and jumped with every step. That should slow me down a little.

            Harry Scarface laughed at me and said, “You run like someone trying to walk on pins and needles!”

            I replied, “You run like there’s a scar on your face!”

            “No duh! I _am_ a scarface!”

            During dodge ball, I would stand beside Harry Scarface. Whenever there’s a ball thrown to us, I would block it for him. But so far, for the whole period, no one threw any ball at us, so we end up chitchatting instead.

            One day, Prof. Hooch said there was going to be a test. She blew the whistle and told us, “Everyone has to run around the field once and I shall time you.”

            So everyone went running according to his or her names. She told Harry Scarface and I to run last so that there won’t be any waste of time. I think Prof. Hooch is very nice.

            When it was our turn, Draco kept complaining, “Come on, professor, let us go back to class. Are we gonna just wait until they finish running by the next millennium?”

            Prof. Hooch glared fiercely at him and said, “There is always something for you to complain about, isn’t it?”

            Harry Scarface stood at the starting line and said to me softly, “Ron, this is a class with marks. Don’t accompany me, just run,” he then thought for a while and continued, “You don’t have much marks on your other subjects, so you can’t afford to fail P.E. class.”

            I nodded.

            As Prof. Hooch blew the whistle, Harry Scarface and I started running. He was running as hard as he could and his face was wrinkled up real tight. It looked rather funny. But I didn’t laugh; because I know he was trying his very best.

            But I did hear the other classmates laughing at him. I looked at him and saw his mouth closed up real tight and sweat falling from his forehead into his eyelashes. If they didn’t know what I saw, they might think he was crying.

            “Run, Ronald Retard!” Harry Scarface yelled at me. “Don’t wait for me, run!”

            So I did.

            I ran past the first year classes, past the assembly stage, then past Prof. Hooch. Almost a moment later, I ran past Harry Scarface. His face still looked wrinkled up.

            I heard Prof. Hooch calling me from behind, “Hey! One round is enough! Come back! That’s enough!”

            I still ran past the first year classes, past the assembly stage, then towards Prof. Hooch.

            “You retard! Didn’t I just say round the field once? What was the second round for?” Prof. Hooch scolded me real bad.

            I was gasping for breath as I answered her, “That second round was for Harry Scarface, ma’am.”

            Harry Scarface was still running towards the flagpoles.

            Prof. Hooch suddenly laughed and shook her head, “You’re such…”

            She didn’t call me a ‘retard’.


	7. A Useless Paper

            Whenever there’s a class meeting, it would definitely be noisy.

            Hermione had her hands on her waist, stood in front of the class and asked, “Then how else do you want it then?”

            Prof. McGonagall was at her desk marking our books and paid no attention to us. During class meetings, she never bothered and asked us to solve our own problems. So we often argue. In the end, Prof. McGonagall would say, “One more argument and it’s curtains for this meeting.” And Hermione would follow up and say, “Alright, just do what I say.”

            And that was the end of it.

            Harry Scarface would say, “This is such a joke. What an insufferable know-it-all.”

            I don’t know what joke Hermione said—there’s nothing funny about it—but I listen to every word she says, and whenever we needed to vote for something, I would always raise my hand.

            Just like today, she was asking, “Those who vote for Ronald Weasley to be the Student of the Month raise your hand.”

            I quickly raised my hand.

            Draco exclaimed, “Thick-faced weasel! You dare vote for yourself?”

            Hermione exclaimed even louder, “And why not? Ronald Weasley had been carrying water for us, sweeping the floor, taking out the garbage and picking up after us for the entire month now. If he doesn’t deserve this award, who does?”

            She was actually talking about me.

            Hermione continued, “The student council had laid down the line that every class must have a candidate to receive the award next Monday’s assembly. We have to decide on one today.”

            When no one else said anything, Hermione said, “Alright, just do what I say,” and it was done.

            “But that weasel is a retard. Can he even go up the stage to receive the award?” Draco asked the whole class, “If he were to pee on stage, do we need the Headmaster to help change his nappies?”

            The whole class was laughing.

            I was a little angry. He may meant it to be funny but in truth, I don’t wear nappies anymore.

            Harry Scarface banged the table loudly, “Objection! Objection! Verbal assault on fellow classmate! Guilty!”

            Hermione went up to Draco and pointed at him, saying, “Alright, if you think you’re so smart, you go ahead and take Ronald Weasley’s place on stage for the award.”

            Draco immediately shook his head and shouted, “No way! Why should I go help the weasel get his lousy award?”

            They began to argue loudly. Prof. McGonagall looked up and scolded, “What’s all the fuss about here?”

            Hermione immediately reported, “We picked Ronald Weasley to be the Student of the Month and asked for Draco to represent for the award.”

            Prof. McGonagall thought for a while and said, “Why don’t you let Ronald have a try?”

            They then told me to go up front, pretend to receive a piece of drawing paper from Hermione and bow. I wanted to laugh out loud, but I can’t. I held out my hand real straight, took the paper and put it under my left arm like Hermione taught me before bowing down to her like a chicken.

            “Just like that, Ronald. It’s a no-brainer,” Hermione said.

            That Monday assembly, Hermione took me in front of the stage, lining up with everyone else. She told me, “Later when the council president calls your name, go up there and do what I’ve taught you to do, OK?”

            During the hoisting of the flag I was sweating like mad. But I’ve waited like forever, yet still the president didn’t call my name. I keep hearing him say, “First Year-Slytherdor, First Year-Slytherdor. No one? Has he or she called in sick or something? Let the class monitor represent him or her then.”

            Then I saw Hermione running up the stage to take the award. I smiled at her.

            Maybe they’ve changed the vote, but it’s OK.

            Back in class, Hermione gave me the piece of paper she took from the Headmaster and said, “You should’ve gone up when they called for First Year-Slytherdor. Oh, never mind. Here’s your award.”

            That piece of paper had a lot of words on it. I didn’t like it. Drawing paper is much better. At least I can draw stuff on both sides of it.


	8. It's All Pretend

            The Math teacher Prof. Snape, my class teacher Prof. McGonagall and I were in the office. The office had air-conditioning, and it felt great.

            Prof. Snape smoothed his shoulder-length hair, opened my Math exercise book and said to Prof. McGonagall, “I cannot stand this kind of student.”

            Prof. McGonagall said quietly, “I know you’re a Mathematics Master. I can’t really do anything. He’s born slow; you can’t blame him for that.”

            Prof. Snape looked at me and asked me in his cold tone, “Have you heard and understood anything that I have been teaching, Weasley?”

            I shook my head and said, “I heard, but I don’t understand.”

            Of all the classes, I understood Math class the least, ‘coz I couldn’t find a single word I could write in my book. There were loads of numbers, but they were all jumping here and there and never followed in line like 1, 2 and 3.

            Math class definitely is the most boring.

            Prof. Snape pushed his hair back and said, “I refuse to believe that I cannot teach him. The great educator Watson once said, ‘I can teach any child’. I believe I can.”

            So he told me to come to his office every recess to give me a little tuition. Harry Scarface patted my shoulder and said, “Work hard, Ron.”

            I took my textbook, my exercise book and my pencil case and walked all the way to the office. Prof. Snape just finished eating his lunch. He cleaned his mouth and told me to recite the timetable.

            I’ve forgotten all of them.

            Prof. Snape gave me a small board and told me to memorize it everyday. He thought for a while and said, “Actually, you can use a calculator. Can you use one, Weasley?”

            I shook my head.

            “I shall teach you next time.”

            Then he opened the textbook, wrote some numbers on a paper and said to me, “For now, I’ll teach you about division.”

            He drew a huge circle, then drew a few lines on the circle and told me, “Imagine that this circle is a huge biscuit, or an orange, and cut them into eight pieces. Try counting them.”

            I counted the pieces and he was right; there _are_ eight pieces. Prof. Snape is really smart.

            “If you eat off a piece, it’s called ‘an eighth’. One out of eight. Get it? Repeat after me, an eighth.”

            So I said, “An eighth.”

            Later, Prof. Snape told me to eat off two-eighth, three-eighth…of course, this is all pretend.

            “This is called division, understand?”

            I quickly nodded.

            Prof. Snape then drew another circle, and, like cutting a cake, he drew two lines.

            “Now it’s cut into four pieces. If you eat off one piece, what do you call it?”

            I thought very, very hard and stared very, very long at the circle on that paper. Prof. Snape must’ve waited a long time for he finally said, “It’s called ‘a quarter’.”

            Then he asked me to eat off two-quarter, three-quarter…again, of course, this is all pretend.

            I spent that whole afternoon pretending to eat biscuits.

            When the bell rang, Prof. Snape said, “Very well, we shall continue tomorrow.”

            So I went back to class.

            Once I got home, I followed exactly how Prof. Snape drew his circles. Somehow it made me feel smart. I went over to the fridge and took out an orange and cut them into pieces. Then I ate off a piece, but I forgot what it was called. I ate the second piece, the third piece…and in the end I’ve ate up everything.

            When Ginny asked me what I was doing, I said, “I’m practicing Math. Go away. Don’t bother me.”

            Why is it that we have to pretend eating biscuits in Math class? I just don’t get it.


	9. Suffering People

            Prof. McGonagall gave us all a notice.

            As she gave them to each of us, she explained, “Please make sure that your parents can at least find a time to attend this Wednesday evening’s PTA meeting.”

            But Prof. McGonagall treats me real nice. She told me, “I know your mother is busy selling her waffles, Ronald. She can be exempted.”

            So I folded the notice and put it into my bag.

            On Thursday, when Mother checked my bag and found the notice, she said angrily, “Why didn’t you tell me that there’s a PTA meeting yesterday?”

            I replied, “The professor said you don’t have to go. Besides there were a lot of parents arguing. It was so friggin’ noisy, you’d be glad you didn’t go.”

            Just the thought about yesterday made me quite afraid.

            There were a lot of parents in school yesterday. They flipped through our books and exam papers and were standing around Prof. McGonagall chitchatting. I was going back and forth getting water for them to drink. Harry Scarface’s godfathers were there too—one who looked very handsome with long hair tied into a ponytail and another with dark brown hair and was wearing something that looked like it was bought from a flea market.

            Then there came a father who smelt rather strong of the perfume Father wore. He was Draco’s father. He wore a very well ironed suit and a pair of shiny shoes, with a black cane to match, and didn’t want to sit on our chair. Prof. McGonagall told me to wipe the chair clean and asked him to sit down.

            Draco was at the corridor playing ball and didn’t dare to come in. Mr. Malfoy said, “My boy Draco is a little arrogant and likes to have things his own way.”

            Prof. McGonagall nodded.

            Mr. Malfoy said immediately, “But he’s a smart boy, just a little careless.”

            Prof. McGonagall nodded again.

            “Oh yes, Draco told me,” Mr. Malfoy took out a really neat handkerchief and wiped the sweat off his nose before continuing, “that you have a retard in your class. How can this be?”

            He shook his head and said, “This is very unfair, professor. Think about the other children here. It’s a very bad influence. You should be complaining to the Headmaster about this.”

            Prof. McGonagall replied, “That’s not true. Yes, I don’t deny we have a mentally challenged student here, but he’s a good boy and means no harm…”

            Before she could finish, Mr. Malfoy cut in, “Well, unfortunately, it’s a matter of quality here. If you have a retard in your class, how can you teach any better…”

            Again, someone else cut off Mr. Malfoy’s words. It was Hermione Granger’s mother saying, “Excuse me, sir, don’t you think you’re a little bias here…”

            Later, the more they talked, the more I couldn’t understand. Also, they’ve finished drinking their water, so I had to go get some more.

            When I came back, I saw Prof. McGonagall’s nose quite red, as if she had just cried a great deal. Mr. Malfoy’s face was red with anger and his smooth forehead seemed to grow a lot of wrinkles as he stomped out of the classroom. Harry Scarface’s godfathers didn’t look too happy either. Mrs. Granger’s nose was also red as she shook her head with a hanky near her mouth, muttering, “How cruel…How inhumane he is…”

            Harry Scarface pulled me out of the classroom and told me, “You better not go in, Ron. They’re all arguing because of you.”

            I was shocked. I don’t even know a single one of them. I only met them today.

            “Oh, don’t mind about them. This had nothing to do with you,” Harry Scarface smiled a very small smile, but I didn’t think he was actually happy.

            OK, they were arguing because of me, but it had nothing to do with me; I don’t get it.

            “I don’t get it either,” Harry Scarface lifted his shoulders and sighed.

            Soon, all the parents went home. Prof. McGonagall told us to come in and arrange the tables and chairs back in order. She looked at me and said, “Ronald Weasley, if only you know you’re suffering so much right now.”

            I know what ‘suffer’ means. It has something to do with crying. But I’m not crying. Prof. McGonagall and Mrs. Granger are the ones crying.


	10. I've Been Hit

            When I was crossing the road that day, I’ve walked slowly and I’ve looked both sides before crossing, yet I still got hit.

            There was a motorcycle suddenly speeding towards me. I didn’t manage to move away, so I fell. My leg hurt and was bleeding, and my lunch was all over the place. I saw what Mother made for me: ham and egg sandwich, an apple and a box of pear juice.

            The motorcycle guy picked up his bike and picked me up. Someone across the street came over and asked, “Are you alright? There’s a clinic nearby.”

            So they both took me to have my leg bandaged.

            The guy who hit me kept on talking, first to the doctor, then to the nurse. He talked real quick, and I couldn’t even understand any of his words. Besides, my leg was so friggin’ painful. I’m trying hard to hold the pain.

            Later Mother came and asked the doctor, “Anything wrong? Will he be lame? Who hit him?”

            The guy who hit me came to her and said, “It’s me, Mrs. Weasley. I just told the doctor that your son wasn’t watching the road when he was crossing. He made me hit him.”

            I then realized that he was our neighbour who works at a construction site. He was Mother’s regular customer. Every time he came for waffles he would asked, “Hey, egghead! Have you eaten your eggs today?” When I replied “Yes”, he would laugh out loud.

            But Mother never laughed.

            He turned to the doctor and said, “That kid’s brain’s a little slow and reflexes are bad. I did yell out for him to move away but he just stood there.”

            He looked at me and said, “What bad luck.”

            Mother touched my knee and scolded me silently, “Didn’t I tell you to be careful?”

            I said, “I _was_ careful.”

            The guy who hit me took his helmet and said, “Alright, I gotta go work now. Tell your son to be careful next time.”

            Mother said, “Hey! You just hit my son! Aren’t you gonna pay for the medical bills? You could’ve given my son a concussion!”

            The doctor said, “We’ll have to monitor him for three days to confirm that.”

            The guy who hit me replied angrily, “Your son’s brain ain’t gonna be any different whether he got a concussion or not. I told you, it was he who wasn’t careful. You can’t blame it all on me.”

            He paused for a while and continued, “You shouldn’t be letting that kid walking around in the streets alone, or you’d be blaming everyone for every accident he gets into.”

            “Are you saying it’s _my_ fault?” Mother was also angry.

            “What else you expect?”

            Mother started to cry as she said, “You think you’re so tough bullying someone more dumb than you are, aren’t you?”

            The doctor patted Mother’s shoulder and said, “Alright, alright, that’s enough. For now, the medical bills are on me. You just take your son back home and rest, and don’t let water get into his wound.”

            So Mother took me home. I didn’t have to go to school today.

            But I really felt like eating ham and egg sandwich. When I told that to Mother, she scolded me angrily, “Is there anything else you can do besides eating? Being bullied, that’s all you can do!”

            I didn’t dare speak another word. My leg still hurt. Next time if I cross the road, I’m gonna walk even slower and I’m gonna wait until there’s absolutely no more cars before crossing.

            But there are so many cars on the road. Do I have to wait until the middle of the night and there’s not a single person on the road before I cross?

            The guy who hit was really fierce. Is he always like that when he hits other people? But then again, it’s better not to hit anyone else.

            It hurts getting hit.


	11. Water Balloon War

            They said bazaars are fun when we get to throw water balloons and earn money at the same time. They asked me to join, so I agreed.

            Later I found out that I have to stand behind a board and let others throw water balloons at me. I said I didn’t want to. I’m not that stupid to just stand there and let others hit me.

            Draco said, “Then what else can you do, weasel? Take a look at the chart. It says: Collect coupons, count money, draw posters, etc…Can you do any of these?”

            Hermione explained, “Don’t worry, Ronald. You won’t always get hit. You can move away. Those really good at moving away won’t ever get hit by the water balloon.”

            So I decided to become someone really good.

            Hermione even said that it’s for our class fund. If there’s enough money to buy a drinking water machine, I don’t have to go around carrying water everyday.

            During the bazaar, I stood behind the board and waited for people to throw water balloons at me. Draco was like the people in the market shouting for business when he kept yelling, “Water balloons! Come one, come all, and have fun throwing water balloons!”

            There was a hole on the board and I have to stick my face through that hole. Suddenly someone came over to throw water balloons. I looked at him nervously. When he threw, I moved my face away and it didn’t hit me. I was really good.

            The second person also missed. He yelled, “That ain’t fun!”

            Draco ran to me and said, “Stop moving, weasel. Or we won’t get any money.”

            So I stood there and didn’t move. As expected, when the next person threw the water balloon, it hit me and broke. My clothes were wet and everyone was having a great time laughing.

            I laughed too. It didn’t hurt when the water balloon hit me, and it was fun getting wet. Anyway, Mother is not there, so she wouldn’t be angry with me.

            I wanted to try throwing it myself, but I can’t cut myself in half and let one half standing behind the board and the other throw a water balloon.

            Draco said, “If you don’t stand there, who will?”

            No one wanted to stand there and be hit, so I had to stay.

            I did this for the drinking water machine.

            Biology teacher Prof. Sprout came over and she was holding a little girl’s hand. The little girl said, “Mommy, I want to throw a water balloon.”

            And yet when she threw her water balloon hard, it flew on the air for a while and fell onto her shoes. She curled her mouth and scolded at Prof. Sprout, “Stupid water balloon!”

            Prof. Sprout picked her up, went up the board and asked her to throw it one more time. She frowned, moved her mouth sideways and hit me square on the nose. I rubbed my nose and muttered, “Ouch.” She laughed out loud.

            “That was fun!” she said.

            “Yeah, that was fun! That big brother is so silly,” Prof. Sprout replied.

            She looked a lot like my sister Ginny, without the red hair, but my classmates kept saying, “What a doll your daughter is, professor!”

            Maybe they do sell ugly dolls. There’s a lot of things for sale nowadays.

            Finally the money we’ve earned is only enough to buy half a drinking water machine, but no one sells that sort of thing, so I still have to go get water for everyone everyday.

            It’s alright, really. I like getting water. I used that time to secretly fill up a water balloon and throw it at my own feet. That was fun.

            If there’s going to be another bazaar, I’m gonna ask them not to sell anymore water balloons. Because I got so wet and I forgot to bring dry clothes to wear, Mother gave me a sound scolding. I told her that it was decided by the class meeting and that everyone had to have a job to do, but Mother said, “You’re so stupid.”

            Even Harry Scarface said, “Why should you let others throw water balloons at you, anyway?”

            It doesn’t hurt, really. I only got my clothes wet.

            But Harry Scarface said, “It’s not only your clothes that gets wet, you know.”

            _Sigh_. He’s always saying stuff that I don’t understand anyway.


	12. French Tuition

            After school, Mother said to me, “I’ve enrolled you and Ginny to go for French tuition class. Tomorrow onwards, you’re going tuition with her.”

            “I don’t want to go with Ron,” Ginny said.

            Mother scolded loudly, “He maybe stupid, but he’s still your big brother.”

            Both of them stood there looking angrily at each other. I didn’t know what to do.

            Ginny said, “No matter what, I’m not going to walk with him.”

            The next day, on the way to tuition class, Ginny said, “Wait, I’ll walk in front and you follow behind,” then thought for a while and said, “Once we’re in class, don’t you dare say that I’m your sister.”

            I nodded.

            So I walked real slow, never daring to walk past her. But I have to keep an eye on her, or I’ll lose her. It’s really hard that way. I almost hit a trashcan on the way.

            Finally we were there. We went all the way to the first floor. There’s air-conditioning in the classroom. That’s good. I’m beginning to like tuition already.

            But Ginny didn’t seem to like it. She kept very far away from me and sat at the very front seat. I went all the way to the back and sat at a very big table.

            A grownup came to me and said, “I’m sorry, this is the teacher’s seat. You go sit over there.”

            Someone laughed and Ginny turned around and glared at me.

            During class, a very beautiful yellow-haired teacher named Fleur Delacour, if I said it right, gave us textbooks. I opened and saw there were loads of words I couldn’t understand. The teacher said in a weird accent, “Let me give you all French names.”

            She called out some names and said something I didn’t understand. She sounded even worse than Prof. Flitwick with her teeth hissing like a snake and tongue curling without control. And she kept talking like she was trying to remove phlegm from her throat but couldn’t. When she called my name, I raised my hand and stood up.

            She smiled and said, “Ronald Weasley, you are the eldest in the class. Do you want to be a class monitor?”

            I shook my head, “No, thank you. I already have a class monitor.”

            She said, “But everyone else besides you are fourth and fifth grade. You have to work hard and be a role model to the class.”

            Then she asked me with a smile and said, “What sort of name do you want, Ronald? Francois? Gaston?”

            I said, “Francois is better.” I don’t like Gaston. Makes me feel gassy.

            Why are French names so weird? I heard Ginny saying that she wanted to be called ‘Palais’. Sound almost like the football player Pele or something.

            During recess, I felt bored. I saw Ginny going to the corridor to get a drink. I felt like having a drink too. I went there and told the two people beside her, “You know what? I’m not Ginny Weasley’s brother.”

            The two people looked silly. They were looking at me like they didn’t understand what I was saying.

            So I said, “Ginny Weasley is Pele, get it?”

            Ginny stomped towards me and glared at me, saying quietly, “You’re gonna pay once we’re home.”

            Sheesh! I was trying to do something good.

            At home, Ginny said something to Mother, then suddenly cried. Mother said, “Your brother is getting behind all the other students at school, so I paid money to get him a little extra help. What are you crying for anyway?”

            As she walked to her room she warned me, “Don’t ever speak to anyone in the tuition class, ever!”

            I agreed. Besides the teacher kept asking us to speak as much French as possible in class, but I know only one French word, which is ‘I am Francois’.

            Whenever I said it, they would laugh at me quietly. Why do I have to be called ‘Francois’ anyway? Am I a friend or a swat?


	13. My Seat

            Draco’s father came to school again. He was talking to Prof. McGonagall at the corridor and was spinning his cane slowly. Then Prof. McGonagall came into class and asked, “Can you see the words on the blackboard?”

            Draco shook his head.

            Prof. McGonagall thought for a while, then asked him to change places with Pansy Parkinson at the first row.

            Prof. McGonagall then said, “From now on, we are going to change seats every week, so that everyone’s vision would be evenly developed. There’s been an increase in short-sightedness, so everyone have to be careful.”

            So every Monday we would change seats. We always laugh during that time, like we’re playing a game of tag or something. But Prof. McGonagall said I didn’t have to change places, and that I stay where I was at the backseat of the last row.

            I watched them ‘playing tag’, but I ain’t ‘It’.

            Harry Scarface said, “If you can’t see the words on the blackboard, you must say so, otherwise if you get short-sighted, you’d have to wear glasses like me. It’s very troublesome.”

            I don’t want to wear glasses, and Mother would never let me. Every time when I drew glasses on the people in my textbooks, she would scold me. She seemed to hate people wearing glasses.

            But I never get to change seats. It felt boring.

            I wanted to change seats too. Harry Scarface wanted to tell Prof. McGonagall about it, but I shook my head and said, “No, don’t. What if the professor didn’t like it?”

            Harry Scarface said, “But that’s your right.”

            I don’t know what he meant by ‘my right’. I don’t have anything else in my right besides my arm.

            Harry Scarface feared nothing. He went and asked Prof. McGonagall, “Why is Ronald Weasley always at the back?”

            Prof. McGonagall asked me, “Can’t you see the words on the board either?”

            I dare not say a word.

            She went up front and pointed at one of the words, asking, “Can you see this word?”

            I couldn’t read that word, so I shook my head.

            “Can’t you see or can’t you read?” Prof. McGonagall asked loudly.

            I stared really hard at it. It looked like a word, but I just didn’t what it was.

            She turned to Harry Scarface and said, “See? No matter where Ronald Weasley sits, the results are the same. He wouldn’t understand the word anyway.”

            Harry Scarface took one look at me and sighed. He finally kept quiet.

            Prof. McGonagall came over and patted my head, “Don’t you like your seat?”

            I said, “They throw rubbish here, yet they simply throw them.”

            I didn’t like my seat. There’s a trashcan beside me, and whenever they missed it every time they throw their rubbish, they would ask me to pick it up and throw it for them, and I’d be very busy. Sometimes they throw empty drink packets and when I try to flatten them, the drink inside would squirt out and get my clothes all wet.

            “So where do you want to be changed?” Prof. McGonagall asked.

            I pointed at the backseat of the first row. Prof. McGonagall laughed.

            “But that’s the backseat too.”

            I replied, “That seat is closest to the kettle, so I can get water faster.”

            Prof. McGonagall laughed again and said, “Why, Ronald, you’re not so dumb after all.”

            So Prof. McGonagall allowed me to take turns sitting on the seat near the trashcan and near the kettle. From now on, I get to carry my bags and change seats every Monday. I’m very glad.


	14. Heroes & Retards

            “Hey, retard! Do you want to be a hero?”

            Draco pulled me beside the toilet during recess and asked me that with a grin on his face.

            I know what ‘retard’ is—that’s me; but what is a hero? Is it better than a retard?

            “Heroes are very brave people. What others don’t dare to do, heroes can. Everybody wants to be a hero,” Draco explained as he held up his thumb, saying that the thumb was a hero and the little finger was a retard.

            The thumb was very fat and plump, the little finger was thin and tiny; I’m quite big and plump, so I should be the thumb. So I said, “I want to be a hero.”

            Draco patted my shoulder and said, “Good fellow! I guarantee you’ll be a really cool hero!”

            He came close to my ear and whispered, “Later, when you go into class, pull up Hermione’s skirt and see what colour is her underwear, and then report to me. If you do that, we’ll definitely call you a hero.”

            “If Hermione doesn’t have an underwear, how am I gonna see it?” I asked.

            Draco pulled at my pants and said, “Everyone has an underwear. Don’t tell me you don’t have one!”

            Of course I do, and it’s white. It even has a tag on it written ‘30’. How expensive! It’s more expensive than having ice cream on waffles.

            But I had another question, “Will Hermione be angry?”

            Draco laughed out loud, “Of course not! Who would be angry at a hero?”

            So I walked into class and saw her sitting at her table writing. How am I going to pull up her skirt?

            I rushed to ask Draco about it.

            “Oh, for goodness sake! Don’t be daft, boy. Try and think of something to make her stand up,” Draco glared at me and said, “Hurry! Hurry! We’ll be waiting for you at the corridor.”

            I tried to think of something, but I couldn’t.

            But then Hermione stood up on her own and walked quickly out of the classroom. I quickly chased after her. I was afraid of losing her that I yelled, “Hermione, wait!”

            Hermione turned around and asked, “What is it, Ronald?”

            I said, “Don’t go so fast, or I won’t be able to pull up your skirt.”

            “Pull up what?!” Hermione asked me very loudly and her eyes were huge.

            “Pull up your skirt, that’s what. Or else you tell me for yourself, what colour is your underwear?” I had to ask her.

            Hermione looked at me with her eyes almost popping out. She growled fiercely, “What did you say?”

            I repeated what I said.

            Suddenly she clenched her fist and punched my stomach real hard. I yelled in pain. She’s so weird. Maybe she wasn’t wearing any underwear, but she didn’t have to hit me.

            “Humph! I get it! There’s gotta be someone behind this,” Hermione suddenly nodded, then pointed at my nose and asked, “Who asked you to do this?”

            I replied, “It was Draco Malfoy. He said he was going to make me a hero.”

            Hermione humph-ed again and said, “I knew it!”

            She gave me a hard kick and said, “You are such big fat retard! You’re so good at being tricked, you wouldn’t even know it when you’ve been tricked to death!”

            Then she told me, “Pulling up girls’ skirts are not heroes, they’re animals. Looking at girls’ underwear is no different than being a beast.”

            I became angry. I’m a human boy, so why did Draco trick me to become an animal or a bee?

            I’m not going to listen to Draco ever again, in fact, I’m going to lie to him that I’m actually wearing a red underwear.

            I’m gonna trick him next time.

            But Harry Scarface said, “You speak about underwear again and I’ll ignore you for the rest of your life. You are so bored.”


	15. It's Very Useful

            Every time Math class starts, I always feel like sleeping.

            Actually I felt the same way during English, French and Biology, but Math is the worst. Once Prof. Snape starts drawing circles and triangles on the blackboard, I’d start yawning. I tried to close my mouth and not let the yawn out. I tried to yawn in my throat. But Prof. Snape still saw that, and asked me to go wash my face.

            Next time, I’m gonna try yawning in my stomach.

            Prof. Snape always said, “What are you going to be when you grow up when you don’t even know how to recite the timetable?”

            I would be scared and started reciting, “Want tutu, tutu for…” And then I forgot the rest.

            I hate the timetable. They always start with ‘Want’. The more I recite, the more I ‘want’ to have a ham and egg sandwich.

            Prof. Snape also said, “If you are bad in Mathematics, you will suffer for the rest of your life. You would be so bad that you cannot even count your own salaries, and it serves you right if you’re tricked to death.”

            And his most famous words would be, “Mathematics is very useful in your life, understand?”

            Everyone would nod and answer, “Yes, sir.”

            Same goes for me.

            Prof. Snape has been giving me tuition for quite some time now. I go to his office every recess to teach me. But every time I tried to repeat what Prof. Snape taught me, I would forget it immediately the next day during class.

            I only remember him telling me to pretend eating biscuits. So during Math class I would imagine it to be a biscuit, a huge round butter cookie, because the one that Prof. Snape drew on the paper was round.

            I don’t get with Math, ‘coz there is always no words to write on my textbook. Prof. Snape kept drawing circles, triangles and a lot of lines on the blackboard. I don’t know how to draw. I only know how to draw glasses and beards on people in the books.

            I want to be a useful person, but I don’t even know Math. What am I to do?

            “If the speed of A is twice the speed of B, and the speed of C is…” Prof. Snape drew three lines on the blackboard: one long, one short and one in the middle. He said the long line is A and the short one is C.

            I don’t even know who is A and who is C. Are they people or are they animals? Why are their names only an alphabet? Don’t their parents give them a longer name like Hermione or Draco or Harry Scarface or even Ronald, like me? I didn’t dare to ask, because no one did.

            From now on, besides eating biscuits, I have to find someone who only has A for a name. If I find him or her, I might be able to understand Math better.

            Bloody hell! There is no one whose name is only A, or B and C for that matter. Mother said we couldn’t move either. What if they live somewhere else?

            It made Math even the more boring.

            Prof. Snape said again, “Mathematics is very useful in your life, understand?”

            I said, “Yes, sir.”

            But this time, Prof. Snape walked away from the blackboard and came towards me, saying, “Ronald Weasley, what use is your kind to the community?”

            I didn’t know what to say.

            He gave me a cold stare and said, “You are a waste of community resources.”

            He went back to the blackboard, drew a lot of lines and wrote down a lot numbers. Then he picked up the glass on his table and was about to drink his tea when he frowned and muttered, “All finished?”

            He then rapped the empty glass on the table and told me to go to the office to get some more tea, “Weasley, get me a warm one.”

            Prof. Snape always drinks tea instead of water, so I ran to get some. Math is very useful, so if I missed a single thing, it would be a waste for me.

            Although right now I don’t understand Math, but once I’ve found those with only A, B and C for names, I might just be able to understand it.

            I poured a full glassful of tea, then ran all the way back to class.


	16. The Thing About Singing

            Hermione Granger came into class today and said loudly, “Everyone quiet down. I have an important announcement to make.”

            She then opened up a piece of paper and read it to the class, “Choir competition. Will be held on the 20th of October. The theme of the song is…”

            After finish reading, she looked at us and said, “We must fight and strive hard for the pride and honour of our class, or else we’ll again be the laughing stock of the school, as usual. I’ve discussed to the music teacher about this matter, so starting tomorrow, we’ll be practicing during recess.”

            I was glad to hear it. I’m willing to fight and strive hard with Hermione.

            But Draco suddenly shouted, “There’s no point of competing! We’ve got a retard here, and it’s a no-brainer that our singing is going to be a comedy gone wrong. Oh, and another thing, since we’re already at it, let’s make that weasel here an actor and star on his own debut ‘Forrest-Ronald Gump’. How’s that for creative?”

            What? Me? Acting?! I quickly put my hands over my mouth to stop myself laughing. I’ve watched TV and have seen actors _way_ more handsome than me! I can’t be an actor! That’ll be bloody embarrassing!

            But Harry Scarface stood up and said, “I’m the one not suitable on stage. Ron can sing, so why can’t he join the choir competition?”

            Draco turned to him and asked, “If he suddenly make a scene in the middle of the song, our team would definitely be ruined.”

            The whole class started arguing. Again.

            Hermione yelled, “QUIET~!!!” She then thought for a while and said, “Let’s vote for it then.”

            I’m good at voting. I just have to raise my hand.

            Hermione asked, “Those who vote for Ronald to _not_ go on stage raise your hand.”

            I raised my hand.

            Hermione counted, “1, 2, 3…18, 18 votes. Those who vote for Ronald to go on stage raise your hand.”

            I raised my hand again.

            Hermione shook her head and said, “You’ve already raise your hand, Ronald. Put it down. OK, 1, 2, 3…12, 12 votes.”

            She then widened her eyes and said angrily, “What about the others? There is always someone who has no comments. You seriously don’t care for any class activities now, do you?” She then pointed at Harry Scarface and asked, “Why didn’t you raise your hand, Harry?”

            Harry humph-ed and replied, “There is no point in all this voting. I will have no part of this.”

            So Hermione said, “18 over 12. Ronald is exempted from the competition.”

            Harry stood up and said, “I’ll exempt myself.”

            “Fine. I don’t care,” Hermione replied as she walked back to her seat and ignored him.

            So every afternoon recess, the whole class would go to the music room to sing. The music room was on the second floor, and if you stand at the corridor, you can hear them practicing.

            Harry Scarface and I leaned on the corridor wall. Harry Scarface said, “People stir up discrimination even in this kind of silly singing contest. What a loser!”

            I didn’t know what he was talking about. I know that the TV often talked about public nation and private nation and all sorts of other nation I don’t understand, but to think that there is a ‘discrimee nation’, wow! Our world has gotten more and more advanced!

            Actually I do know how to sing, but I can’t sing out loud. If I did that, Ginny would say, “You trying to wake the dead or what?” Dead people never wake up, but Ginny is too young to know that, so I can’t do anything about it.

            I heard our classmates’ singing all the way from the second floor’s music room. I hummed quietly along with them.

            Harry Scarface looked at me, laughed and hugged my arm, saying, “Sing it louder. I like listening to you. Sing it for me.”

            I was just playing around, ‘coz I didn’t know what they were singing. I simply hummed what I just heard.

            Harry Scarface didn’t care. He laid his head on my shoulder and hummed along with me. He sounded very bad, but I didn’t laugh.

            We both hummed together out loud.


	17. Eyesight Check-Up

            I know that eyesight check-up is about checking to see if our eyes are still useful, and I know during check-up we have to use our hand to point everywhere. So when the nurse pointed at the picture on the wall, I started pointing.

            First, I pointed up, then down, then up and down again.

            But the nurse Madam Pomfrey looked rather angry. She glared at me and said, “Do you honestly know how to point? You’re driving me up the wall.”

            I frowned as I thought. I saw everyone pointing up and down. Oh, I almost forgot, they also pointed sideways. So I did the same thing.

            But Hermione came to Madam Pomfrey and said something to her ear. Madam Pomfrey then threw her round stick and glared at Hermione, saying, “Well, why didn’t you say so? You made me waste half of my day here!”

            To tell the truth, I’ve pointed stuff before when I was in grade school. That time there were teachers to help me, and whenever I got it right, they would clap their hands and said, “Well done, Ronald!” and then give me a boiled sweet. But now I’ve forgotten how to point, and I didn’t feel like having a boiled sweet. I’d been standing so long and my arm was sore from pointing and I’m friggin’ tired, but Madam Pomfrey keeps saying that I got it wrong. Even I was as angry as her.

            Hermione took in front of the picture and said, “Ronald, can you please be a little smarter just this once? You’re holding up everyone and you won’t even get by tomorrow.” She then pointed at a circle and said, “See? Can you see an open hole?”

            I replied, “Yes.”

            “Where?”

            I pointed at the open hole on the picture.

            “That’s right,” Hermione looked happy. “Now you just point at wherever the open hole is and you’re all done.”

            That was bloody hell easy.

            Madam Pomfrey drank some water and asked, “Are we good to go?”

            Hermione nodded and said, “No problem. Give it a try.”

            She pulled me behind a yellow line and told me to use a stick to cover one of my eyes.

            Madam Pomfrey pointed at the first picture and said, “Where is the hole?”

            I ran towards the picture and pointed at the hole.

            “No, Ronald,” Hermione pulled me back behind the yellow line. “You have to stand here and point. You cannot run all the way there.”

            But it’s so far away from the picture. How do you expect me to point? I didn’t dare say that, ‘coz I’m afraid of making Hermione and Madam Pomfrey angry. I gave it a long thought and then pointed up.

            Hermione sounded relief and glad when she said, “Finally you understood something out of this!”

            Actually it was just a guess. That picture was just too far away and I didn’t have long hands. They might as well give me a stick while they’re at, and maybe I might just be able to point it out. The stick had to be very long, maybe as long as that pole we use to clean windows.

            Madam Pomfrey pointed again at the second picture. I was really pissed. I wanted to go over and point at the open hole for them to see, I know I can see it there. But they wanted me to stand behind the yellow line. They’re so weird. So I made another wild guess and point sideways.

            “Are you sure?” Madam Pomfrey asked me.

            I made it sure for her.

            But Hermione wouldn’t let me make sure. She sounded fierce when she said, “You gotta be sure before you point, Ronald.”

            Then let me bloody hell point at the real open hole of the picture! They just wouldn’t let me.

            Finally Madam Pomfrey wrote something on a piece of paper, tore it into half and gave that half to me, saying, “You failed your eyesight check-up. Go ask your mother to get you some glasses.”

            But Mother hates people wearing glasses. What am I to do? When I went back to class I showed my piece of paper to Harry Scarface. He chuckled for a while and said, “You don’t need glasses, Ron. I know your eyes are fine, you just needed a more special kind of check-up.”

            But Mother read all my school notices. This time, she was looking at it long and hard. If the school wanted me to wear glasses, she will get them for me.

            I hope that if I get my glasses, I’ll be smarter.


	18. I Hate Monthly Exams

            I love going to school. But one day, Prof. McGonagall told me not to come to school tomorrow and the day after tomorrow, because there’s going to be a two-day monthly exam.

            Draco muttered, “What luck being a retard. They can be exempted from exams.”

            Harry glared at him and said, “Those who attend the exams don’t mean they’re not retards.”

            They always liked to argue, but I can’t do anything about it. I never understand what they’re arguing anyway.

            Prof. McGonagall smiled also said, “Remember to come back to school two days later. I should’ve done this during last month’s exam. With you absent, our overall marks wouldn’t be pulled down by yours.”

            I picked up my bag and went home. I’ve finished eating my lunch and I can hear the “clank, clank” noise the fork made inside my empty lunch box. But tomorrow and the day after tomorrow, I wouldn’t be carrying my bag and my lunch box to school.

            Mother said, “For these two days, you better sit tight and study on your own, and don’t watch any TV. Not going to school doesn’t mean you can get away from studying.”

            So I didn’t watch any TV, like she said. I woke up the next morning and watched the people outside my window. I saw many kids going to school in their uniform. I also say someone from my school. It was Cedric Diggory, the boy next door. I called out, “Hey, Ced!”

            He looked up and saw me, “Aren’t you going to school? You’re gonna be late!”

            I said, “My professor told me not to go.”

            “Lucky you,” he replied, then started running to school.

            I saw another student with a ball in his hand. Maybe he had P.E. today. Almost immediately, everyone was gone, so I had to look at other things. There were a pair of crows sitting on the electric pole and they were making such a loud noise that sounded almost like the way our class practiced their singing. I laughed inwardly. Too bad I wasn’t in the team. Prof. McGonagall told me to be below the stage and clap my hands real hard. I clapped so hard it kinda hurt. Maybe I shouldn’t have clapped that hard.

            “Take out your books and study, Ron,” Mother suddenly stuck her head through the door and gave me a stern warning.

            I quickly took all of my textbooks out and lined them all up on the table. Then I opened my exercise book and started to look for words to copy. I started with my English textbook and copied four words _big_ , _man_ , _one_ and _me_ from Chapter One. But then I remembered we’ve reached Chapter Eight, so I erased everything and turned to that page. After looking at that page for a while, again I found the four words _big_ , _man_ , _one_ and _me_ , so I copied them down. Then I realized what a bloody fool I was. I shouldn’t have erased the words I had copied in the first place!

            Copying words was boring. I wondered what were Harry Scarface and the others doing. If I could go for monthly exams, that would be fun. But I only know how to get water and throw the garbage. Monthly exams are for smart people.

            I wanted to sneak into the school but I was afraid that Prof. McGonagall would see me and get angry. Maybe I could try hiding behind the wall that surrounded the school. But then again, maybe not. We, the students, must listen to what the teacher says.

            After two days, I carried my bag to school. I greeted Harry Scarface happily. He patted my shoulder and asked, “So, getting the luxury of sleeping in, eh?”

            Hermione asked me to get water as usual. She said, “Without you these two days, we had no water to drink. Everyone was so busy cramming their brains into the books, they simply had no time to get water for any of us.”

            So I cleaned the kettle and ran all the way to get freshly boiled water. I didn’t forget Prof. McGonagall’s warm share of water either, full to the brim.

            I love going to school.

            Harry Scarface said, “I’ve just read the newspaper saying that sooner or later they will abolish unnecessary tests. By then we won’t need to have to go through so many of them. I really hate monthly exams.”

            I hate monthly exams too. Monthly exams keep me from going to school.


	19. Do Not Discriminate Retards

            The sun for today’s morning assembly was really high and huge. Even the Headmaster Dumbledore’s voice was high and loud. He kept talking and talking and didn’t even stop when I was all wet and sweaty.

            I only heard him say, “We cannot………retards. Just because they are retards, doesn’t mean………Retards are human beings too………”

            Harry Scarface was beside me, whispering, “Headmaster Dumbledore is talking about you.”

            I knew that. I heard him say ‘retard’. The retard is me.

            Finally, Headmaster Dumbledore said, “Oh, and another thing. We must not call them retards. That’s discrimination. Just call them by their names.”

            Once we got back to class, I wiped the sweat off my face with my sleeves. I was very afraid. I didn’t know why Headmaster Dumbledore talked about me. I met him yesterday in the toilet and I greeted him loudly, “Good morning, sir.” And he replied, “Good morning, son. But you don’t have to greet me in the toilet.”

            Prof. McGonagall came into the class later and asked the whole class, “Have you all heard what Headmaster Dumbledore said during assembly today?”

            She then walked up to Draco and said, “There had been a number of parents complaining to the Headmaster about their children being bullied. You have to know that Headmaster Dumbledore is a very busy man and has to attend endless meetings. If every student’s parent of this school decided to make a complaint, our dear Headmaster is definitely going to tire himself to death.”

            Bloody hell! If Headmaster Dumbledore were to die, this school is gonna ‘close shop’ for sure!

            Prof. McGonagall continued, “So everyone must learn to love each other and stop giving the school so much trouble because of a little disagreement between themselves. We have just the mentally disabled student in our class’s midst, and he’s called Ronald Weasley. I know you all call him a retard. Think about it. Don’t you agree that he might be hurt if you called him that?”

            She came to me and pulled me up while she talked to the whole class, “Look at him. Ronald looks just like everyone else. He has two eyes and a nose just like all of you, why should he be any different? He’s only a little slow in learning and doesn’t really know how to read and write, but that’s not his fault.”

            Prof. McGonagall kept talking about me. It made me kinda embarrassed. I stood there and closed my mouth tightly.

            “Alright. I won’t repeat whatever Headmaster Dumbledore had just said. I suppose you all understand this concept. From now on, you are not allowed to discriminate Ronald or call him a retard. If I hear anyone of you do that, I shall take points away from you.”

            After done talking, she told me to sit down.

            I understand Prof. McGonagall better. What she meant was that I am a retard but I shouldn’t be called so.

            During recess, Draco ran to me and grabbed my exercise book, shouting, “Look, everyone! Our dear ol’ Ronald Weasley is so hardworking! He’s got his book filled with words!”

            Everyone started laughing. I grabbed the book away from him and put it in my drawer.

            “Come now, old fellow. You treat it like some kind of national treasure or something,” he said before turning to everyone, “I suppose if we keep this retard in this class any longer, we’re gonna be as stupid as he is!”

            Harry Scarface shouted from his seat, “You’re already stupid, Malfoy. Don’t go around blaming others.”

            Again, everyone laughed. Draco glared angrily at Harry Scarface, but Harry Scarface said the louder, “Didn’t the professor said whoever discriminates will have their points taken away from them?”

            After recess, Prof. McGonagall asked Draco angrily at class, “I heard that you just called Ronald a retard. Haven’t you been listening to anything I’ve said?”

            Draco had his head low and his face scrunched up in a weird way.

            “Don’t give me that face, young man,” Prof. McGonagall scolded, then sighed and said, “We shouldn’t be looking down at these people. They might sometimes understand whatever we’re saying, and they might feel hurt whenever we make fun of him. We can’t pretend that they don’t know anything.”

            Prof. McGonagall finally stopped talking after she took a look at me.

            She opened her textbook and said, “Turn to Chapter Eight, please.”


	20. Even Retards Get Angry

            I cried. I cried real loud.

            I didn’t mean to. This morning, I went into class and put my lunchbox into the thermal box as usual. Suddenly Draco came, took out my lunchbox and put it on the teacher’s desk, saying, “Look what the retard has, everyone! Ooh, we have boiled chicken with gravy, tomatoes and baked potatoes, mushroom soup…”

            There was a party at Cedric’s, the boy next door, home yesterday, and our family was invited. Mother took some of the leftovers home and gave it to me for lunch. She even sprinkled some pepper to make it smell good, but Draco had opened the cover and was letting all the good smell of pepper out. By the time I have my lunch it wouldn’t smell so good anymore. So I quickly ran over to cover my lunch box back.

            But Draco took it away from me and said, “You’re already more than a potato head enough. These potatoes are a waste on you. Let me help you eat them instead.”

            But I wanted to eat those baked potatoes too, so I fought with him. As we fought, the lunch box fell onto the floor, and my chicken with gravy, tomatoes and baked potatoes and mushroom soup fell all over the place. Some of the gravy and soup got onto both our clothes.

            I was angry, so I said, “I’m gonna tell.”

            Draco copied me, but he used a girl’s voice when he said, “I’m gonna tell.”

            I got even angry, “Don’t copy me!”

            “Don’t copy me, you fool!” Draco used that girl’s voice again. I got so bloody angry, I grabbed my flask and threw it at Draco. Draco shouted in shock and ran out of the classroom. My flask broke and the water in it wet both my shirt and my entire lunch on the floor.

            Looking at the mess on my clothes and the floor, I knew I didn’t have anything to eat for recess later, and I knew I was going to end up hungry. I didn’t know what else I could do, so I started crying. Harry Scarface just came into class and saw the mess. He told me not to cry. He said, “Big boys don’t cry, Ron. Stop it.”

            But I kept on crying the louder. I couldn’t stop. I didn’t know why.

            Harry Scarface got a broom and a mop and cleaned the mess on the floor, then took me to the toilet to get my shirt cleaned. I was still crying, and it was getting worse. Harry suddenly grabbed me by the shoulders and put his mouth on mine and kissed me like those movies on TV. I didn’t know why he did that, and I didn’t know what it meant, but it made feel a little better. Still it didn’t stop me crying. He sighed, pulled me back to class and put both his lunch box and mine on my table and said, “I’ll share my lunch with you during recess, OK?”

            It was OK, but I know it wouldn’t be enough for me.

            Prof. McGonagall came into class and gave Draco a sound scolding, then told Draco to buy lunch from the cafeteria for me. I finally stopped crying when I knew I was going to have food for recess.

            The next day, Mr. Malfoy came to school. As soon as he saw me, he said, “You were the one who threw the flask at my son, weren’t you?” He then turned to Prof. McGonagall and said, “That heavy flask could’ve hit my son squarely on the head or the eye. What have you to say about that?”

            Prof. McGonagall replied, “If your son hadn’t looked for trouble with Ronald, this wouldn’t have happened.”

            Mr. Malfoy said coldly, “Boys will be boys, professor. They can sometimes have too much fun out of something. But only people like Ronald Weasley here can have such bad response,” then pointed at me with his cane and continued, “With that kind of dangerous boy, who knows what else he can do? I’m beginning to doubt this school’s credibility, allowing such person to be place along with normal kids. If something were to happen, who’s going to pay for the damages?”

            “Ronald Weasley is as normal as anyone else,” Prof. McGonagall said loudly as she suddenly stood in front of me.

            I was shocked and scared.

            “Anyone can get angry. Even retards get angry.”

            Mr. Malfoy didn’t say anything. He gave me a cold look before walking out of the classroom.

            Prof. McGonagall turned around and said to the whole class, “What are you all looking at? Open your books, everyone.”

            After school, Harry Scarface said, “If anyone bullies you, do not cry. Be brave.”

            But I don’t know how to be brave. I asked him to teach me. Harry Scarface thought for a long time, then said, “Just like yesterday when you threw the flask at Draco when he took your lunch box, that can be considered being brave. But that’s not real bravery, just anger.”

            Wow, there’s even real and not real in being brave. That’s hard. I didn’t want to learn about being brave anymore. I’m still trying to learn about the timetable; I have no time to learn about being brave.

            Harry Scarface thought again for a very long time, then said, “Oh, never mind. If you feel angry about something, be angry about it. Nothing to worry about.”


	21. Raindrops Are Falling On My Head

            It was raining after school.

            There was no rain this morning. The sun was high and bright, so I didn’t bring an umbrella. The others didn’t bring umbrellas either and we were all cramped at the corridor.

            “Run for it!” Draco yelled and ran out of school with three more boys. They covered their heads with their bags and ran all the way to the school gate.

            But soon they ran back from the school gate. Behind them was a man with bushy hair and beard—the first teacher I met when I first came to this school—following behind them with an umbrella. It was the Gamekeeper Hagrid.

            Gamekeeper Hagrid was a huge, giant-like man who’s as fat as Santa Claus and his job was to scold people. He may look fierce and all that but the way he scolds people didn’t sound as fierce as he looks. But it was best to listen to him all the same, for when he became really angry, he’d knock the bloody socks out of you. Oh, and he talks in a very weird accent too, like he didn’t know how to speak English or something.

            Gamekeeper Hagrid said, “Yer all gonna git wet if yer run home in dis heavy rain. Yer all yer parents’ wee lass an’ lads. If yer git a cold, yer parents ar’ gonna blame de school fer ain’t takin’ care o’ ye.”

            Draco shook his wet bag and said, “Come on, Hagrid. They won’t say anything. A little rain won’t kill anyone.”

            Gamekeeper Hagrid gave Draco a look, “Yer be’er not be daft, boy. Ev’rybody in de whole school knows yer daddy. Vice President o’ de PTA, ain’t he? He’s got more complainin’s den any udder parents. Ye stand ere real quiet an wait fer him tuh git yer an umbrelly.”

            “Nosy busybody,” Draco muttered.

            “I hears dat, boy. A lil’ concernin’s on ye an’ ye calls me nosy?” He then raised his umbrella and walked back out into the rain towards his security shed. He hadn’t walked a few steps when he turned around and said to Draco, “Ye kin give yer daddy a call fer ‘em to picks ye up if ye want.”

            Hermione humph-ed and said to Draco, “Draco the little prince, Draco the little baby, you’d better not get wet or Headmaster Dumbledore is gonna be sore.”

            She then said to others, “Draco is our little rich master, so he can’t get wet. Those who are poor, come with me!”

            So saying, she put her bag on her head and ran out of the school. It’s very rare to see her break the school rules, and Harry Scarface and I thought it would be fun to run after her, but Harry Scarface can’t run. He still had that lung problem. So we moved aside and let the others run first. Every single one of our classmates had ran out of the school, leaving only Harry Scarface and I walking slowly in the rain.

            When we reached the school gate, we saw the whole class standing at a roofed corner of the security shed getting scolded by Gamekeeper Hagrid. He was yelling, “Haven’ yer all bin listenin’ tuh wot I’ve says before? Yer git a cold runnin’ under dis heavy rain, an’ yer parents ar’ gonna git worried o’er ye.”

            He pointed at Hermione and said, “An’ ye! Yer de head o’ class an yer leadin’ de class tuh git sick alongs wit ye!”

            Draco looked up and pointed at me, “Sir, that weasel is also running under the rain along with that scarface!”

            We quickly stopped walking and put down our bags.

            Gamekeeper Hagrid gave us a look, frowned and said, “Hurry home, lads. Dinna stops at de roads.”

            Draco shouted, “Not fair! How come they can go under the rain?”

            Gamekeeper Hagrid barked back, “Why ar’ ye comparin’ wit Ronald Weasley? He’s already as dumb as kin be. A lil’ rain ain’t gonna do him any good.”

            Harry Scarface and I walked out of the school as fast as we could. I can still hear Gamekeeper Hagrid scolding, “Ev’ry single hair an’ skin o’ yer body comes from yer parents. Harmin’ less, yer doin’ more rite fer ‘em. Have yer e’er thinks yer parents would be worried about yer? Wen yer parents sends yer tuh school, de school has de responsibility…”

            I couldn’t hear the rest of his scolding. I wouldn’t understand them anyway.

            I stopped using my bag to cover my head. There were books in there and I hate to get them wet. If they got wet I wouldn’t be able to copy words anymore.

            There was a row of trees outside the school gates. As we walked under them, the raindrops were smaller and they fell lightly on my head.

            Harry Scarface said, “Silly people really gets all the luck, don’t you think?”

            I was really happy. I liked this kind of little rain. As they fell on my head, it felt a little ticklish and a little cool. We stepped on puddles and the water would squirt all over our faces. We laughed out loud. And that’s when Harry Scarface stopped and kissed me again, just like he did when we were in the toilet. I pushed him away lightly.

            “Harry Scarface, why do you kiss me?”

            Harry Scarface looked at me for a while, then smiled and said, “You don’t like it?”

            Not that I didn’t like it. I just didn’t know why he did that.

            “Because I’m your boyfriend.”

            Boyfriend? Isn’t that only for boys and girls in love, like in TV?

            Harry Scarface turned me to face him and said, “Look at me, Ron. I’m a boy, right?”

            I nodded.

            “And I’m your friend, right?”

            I nodded.

            “There you have it. Friends kiss too. Boys and girls sometimes kiss even when they are friends. Even boys do that as friends. Besides, you’re a boy and you’re my friend, so that’s why I kiss you,” he explained, then looked away and said, “But we cannot always kiss in the open, because people look down at smart people who kiss retards.”

            I understood him this time. I’m a retard, and not many people like retards. I didn’t mind people not liking me, but I didn’t want people not to like Harry Scarface either. He’s smart and he should be liked. I like him too.

            He looked at me again and smiled, saying, “Wanna kiss again?”

            I nodded. He’s my boyfriend, and I’m his boyfriend, and I liked the way he kissed me. He came close to me and said, “This will be our little secret.”

            I liked keeping secrets. They’re fun.

            As the raindrops kept falling on our heads, Harry Scarface and I kissed.


	22. I Drew A Papaya

            The whole class was quiet. We were all looking at a papaya and some guavas.

            Prof. Trelawney brought a huge papaya and some guavas to class. I thought she was going to cut them for us to eat, but then I thought she wouldn’t be that nice. Just as I had thought, she wasn’t going let us eat them; she was going to let us draw them.

            First she laid a huge cloth on the table and put the papaya on it, then she put the guavas in front of it. She then walked to the back of the class and stared at the papaya. After looking at the papaya, she looked at the guavas. Finally she took the guavas one by one, thought for a long, long time, and then put them at either sides of the papaya.

            Every time during Art class, Prof. Trelawney would do something weird. Just like last week, she told us to listen to a song and draw out how we feel about the song. So I tried drawing what I felt, but in the end I didn’t draw anything because I felt nothing. Bloody hell, was I pissed! I had been listening hard. I couldn’t help it if I couldn’t feel anything. Harry Scarface was better than me. He had felt something, and what he felt was three long lines.

            Today, it could be easy using papaya and guavas. I’ve eaten both of them before, and I know papayas have seeds.

            “For this period we are going to do still portraits sketching,” Prof. Trelawney said as she pointed at the fruits on the table, “Everyone observe those fruits and watch clearly at the big and small of it, then draft them out.”

            Everyone picked up their pencils and used their hands to point here and there before started drawing. I followed whatever they’re doing: hold up my hand straight and closed my eyes. But when I closed my eyes I couldn’t see anything. I opened my eyes and realized I only had to close one eye.

            I then drew one, two, three circles. The big circle would be the papaya and the two smaller ones are the guavas.

            I like Art class the most, because Prof. Trelawney would never put an [X] on my drawing paper. Everything to her was right.

            Prof. Trelawney walked towards me and looked at my circles. I awkwardly erased the big circle and drew an even bigger one. Prof. Trelawney treats me very nice. She would never scold me. So I drew her a bigger one.

            “Ronald, let me teach you something. Try colouring the circle with your pencil.”

            So I did, making the whole circle black.

            Prof. Trelawney smiled and asked, “See? When you coloured with your pencil, what happens?”

            I replied quietly, “My pencil will break.”

            She shook her head, “No, Ronald. When you filled in you circle, it’ll look much better, won’t it? This is called sketching.”

            So I learned about ‘sketching’. Once I get home, I would draw a lot of circles and colour them black. Prof. Trelawney is really smart. Once she started teaching, I understood right away.

            Prof. Trelawney patted my head and said, “Ronald, it’s alright if you’re not smart at languages or science, but you could be an art prodigy. Last month I went to an art exhibition and saw pictures done by people mentally disabled like you. Their drawings are so bold and so full of life. Many of those with mental disabilities often have hidden art talents, you know.”

            So I kept colouring the circles to make her happy. Although I didn’t understand what she was saying, but she didn’t sound like she was scolding me.

            But then suddenly, Prof. Trelawney held my hand, “Stop, stop. Don’t colour it anymore. You’re going to make it too black. Now, squint your eyes a little and look,” she said as she pointed at the papaya, “do you see a part of the papaya a bit brighter?”

            I squinted real hard until I almost couldn’t see. I kept thinking, how could the papaya be bright? It’s not like it’s a light bulb or anything. But since Prof. Trelawney was so nice, I nodded and said the papaya was bright.

            Prof. Trelawney shook her head, “You don’t seem to have any art talent. That’s weird. Maybe it just needs time to be discovered.”

            As she left me she said, “Draw boldly, boy!”

            But I didn’t know what ‘draw boldly’ meant.

            I asked Harry Scarface about it and he said, “Just draw rubbish.”

            How can I draw rubbish when Prof. Trelawney treats me so nice? Harry Scarface talks rubbish.


	23. A V.I.P. Is Coming to School

            During assembly, the student council president said that there would be a VIP visiting our school, and whenever we see him, we must greet him. He’s easy to recognize. He’s the one walking beside Headmaster Dumbledore.

            Later then, I did see the VIP. After assembly, on the way to class, I saw Headmaster Dumbledore standing at the foot of the stairs. There was someone beside him. I bowed to them and said, “Good morning, Headmaster. Good morning, Mr. VIP.”

            But Headmaster Dumbledore didn’t seem to hear me. He kept telling the VIP, “Go and hang up the welcoming banner.” And the VIP said, “Yes, sir.”

            Harry Scarface pulled me away and walked real quick. Then he laughed out loud and said, “That’s the caretaker Argus Filch, not the VIP.”

            How am I supposed to know? Who asked him to stand beside Headmaster Dumbledore and made me make a mistake?

            Harry Scarface then told me that if we see the VIP, he would be wearing a very nice expensive suit.

           The council president didn’t even tell us such an important thing like this. If we were to call the wrong person, we would surely be done for.

            When we went into class, we saw Prof. McGonagall wrote a lot of stuff in her book with her head really low. When the class started to grow noisy, she looked up and warned, “Open your books and study on your own. When the VIP comes, I don’t want to catch you all making a scene.”

            She lowered her head again and continued wrote. Once in a while she would wave her hand, like her hand was sore or something. Hermione walked over and asked, “Do you need my help, ma’am?”

            But Prof. McGonagall never looked up. She said, “No, Ms. Granger. This is on Ronald Weasley’s report. I doubt you know how to write it.”

            What? Prof. McGonagall’s writing about me? Why didn’t she write about Hermione or Draco? I always get the last in class. What is there to write about? I thought she was real nice for picking me for her report even when I’m so dumb.

            Later, Headmaster Dumbledore came into class. He and Prof. McGonagall talked at the corridor and kept looking back at me. I was scared. Headmaster Dumbledore must be very angry because I called the caretaker the VIP.

            “Ronald Weasley, please come here,” Prof. McGonagall stuck her head in and waved her hand for me to go over.

            So I did, with my legs shaking, of course.

            Headmaster Dumbledore looked at me for a while, rubbed my head and said, “Mr. Weasley, do you like school?”

            I nodded.

            “Later if the VIP asked you that, you have to say ‘Yes’, understand?”

            I nodded again. My legs were still shaking, but not that bad anymore. Headmaster Dumbledore didn’t seem like he was going to punish me.

            Headmaster Dumbledore then said, “If the VIP asked if the teachers gave you any extra classes or have constant contact with your parents, you have to say ‘Yes’ to all of them, understand?”

            My legs shook again. How can I remember so much of what Headmaster Dumbledore had said? But I didn’t dare to say that, so I said quietly, “Yes, sir.”

            Headmaster Dumbledore finally nodded. He turned to Prof. McGonagall and said, “These special education committees are the most troublesome groups. Once they’re here, they would start flipping through the students’ records. A special student like Ronald Weasley here would definitely be the root of questions popping out of their mouths.”

            Prof. McGonagall nodded too, “Especially that head of committee Cornelius Fudge. They’ll never understand the hard work of us teachers. One teacher having to cope with more than 30 normal students in the classroom is already tiring enough. No one would have the time to look after another special student. They might as well try teaching them for themselves while they’re at it.”

            “Remember what I’ve said, Mr. Weasley,” Headmaster Dumbledore reminded me again.

            I nodded. I had to nod at him all day today anyway.

            Harry Scarface was right—the VIP really did wear a very nice expensive suit, almost like Mr. Malfoy’s kind. He and Headmaster Dumbledore were walking together as they came into class and watched us. Prof. McGonagall started the class. She would speak for a while, then come to me and ask, “Understand?” and I would nod my head.

            But I was very nervous. I’ve forgotten what Headmaster Dumbledore taught me to say. If the VIP started asking me anything, I’d be dead meat.

            Luckily, he only talked to Prof. McGonagall and never asked me a thing. They never came to me and asked to say things that I didn’t know how to say.

            I like this VIP.


	24. I'm Gonna Need Help Again

            “Ronald Weasley, wait a minute. Let me follow you home.” Prof. McGonagall said that to me one day after school.

            So I waited for her outside the office. I heard her talking to another teacher, saying, “Family interview again. What luck I have to get a ‘boy wonder’.”

            She came out with an umbrella in her hand and said with her eyes squinting, “My, what a hot day!”

            I walked behind her. Whenever I stepped on her shadow I would stop for a while. But Prof. McGonagall would turn around and say, “Hurry up, boy. I have other things to do, you know.”

            “Don’t worry, I’m not going to tell on you,” she smiled as she patted my head. “I called your mother this morning and she said the best time would be in the evening where there’ll be little customers. So I picked this time to go and meet her.”

            I didn’t know what to say. Sweat was falling all over my face and dripped onto my eyes. I didn’t dare to wipe them away, so I kept on blinking.

            Once she reached the shop, she kept her umbrella. I ran inside quickly and said as I secretly wiped the sweat with my arm, “Professor’s here, Mother.”

            Mother was washing the dishes. She said, “Forgive me, professor. The shop’s a little messy. Have a seat and I’ll get you a soft drink.”

            But Prof. McGonagall didn’t want soft drinks. She sat down and said, “Sorry for interrupting your business, Mrs. Weasley. I just wanted to discuss with you about things concerning your son.”

            Mother wiped her hands on her apron and sat opposite Prof. McGonagall.

            Prof. McGonagall said, “I suppose you know that Ronald is an exceptional child. To tell the truth, I don’t see him learning anything in my class.”

            Mother lowered her head and kept wiping her hands on her apron.

            Prof. McGonagall continued, “It’s not that I don’t care about Ronald, but my hands are full. Today’s high school students are cunning-minded and smart-mouthed. You tell them one thing and they’ll give you something else. Just handling this bunch of normal students is enough to give me a massive headache.” She thought for a while and smiled, “Well, I’m not saying that your son is not normal, it’s just that he needs some kind of special learning.”

            Mother looked up quickly and said, “I sent him for tuition—French class, for that matter—and he goes together with his sister Ginny to help him on that subject. Very expensive fees, you know.”

            “It’s not enough to help him just by French tuition alone. He’s way behind everyone even in English and Math, not to mention Biology and History, just to name a few.” Every time Prof. McGonagall said something, she shook her head. I thought about the name ‘Francois’ I got from the French teacher during French tuition class. If I were to go for English tuition, I’m not going to let myself be called ‘Francois’ anymore. I don’t like the name ‘Francois’. It confused me between being a friend and a fly swat. I’m not a fly swat. I’m a boy.

            Luckily, Mother said she wasn’t going to take me for English tuition. She said, “We send him to your school in hope that he’ll at least learn something out of it. If he’s being naughty you can beat his hand or you can punish him by facing the wall if necessary.”

            “That’s not the problem, Mrs. Weasley,” Prof. McGonagall shook her hand, “He’s a special boy and he should be put in a special class. It’s just that our school doesn’t have the power or the funds to start up special classes and we can’t help him much. Maybe you should consider the option of an institution…”

            “I refuse to waste my money and let my son be put in a looney bin even if they _can_ help him!” Mother raised her voice a little. “My son deserves to have the same education as everyone else!”

            “Please calm down, Mrs. Weasley. I understand what you mean, but he still needs all the help he can get.”

            Mother would be angry if anyone mentioned me being put into this place called ‘institution’. She called it a ‘looney bin’ where people put crazy people in it, and she would always tell me that I’m not crazy, just slow. I know I’m not crazy. I’m a retard, that’s all.

            After listening for a while, I finally understood what they were talking about. Mother kept saying the word ‘help’ and Prof. McGonagall also said ‘help’ once in a while. I got it. I need ‘help’. I know ‘help’ very well. Mother knew how to make them. During winter, she would go to a weird-smelling shop where there’s this Chinese old man would pick out all sorts of weird plants, then he would ask Mother to cook them together with chicken soup. The plants would make the chicken soup black and bitter, and Mother would force me to drink them. She would always say, “Drink this and see if it can help you be smarter.”

            Bloody hell! Even Prof. McGonagall said about ‘help’. I am definitely dead meat. I guess I’ll be forced to drink ‘help’ even at this bloody hot summer day.

            Prof. McGonagall and Mother both lowered their heads and ran their fingers on the table. I wanted to go watch cartoons upstairs, but when I stood up, Prof. McGonagall spoke again.

            “All I can do now is let Ronald sit in class and treat him as a guest. I let him have his lunch at school and let him sleep in class. I’ve tried my best, Mrs. Weasley, but my hands are tied.”

            Mother sighed, “It cannot be helped, I suppose. I’m often busy selling waffles and I have no time to look after him. I hope you take real good care of him, professor.”

            Prof. McGonagall stood up, and I quickly got her umbrella for her. Before she left, she asked me, “Are you ever bored in school?”

            I shook my head.

            Prof. McGonagall sighed quietly, but I heard her. I just didn’t know what she was sighing for.

            Today was not a good day. Mother and Prof. McGonagall had sighed a lot, and I might be drinking ‘help’ sooner or later. ‘Help’ sure is bloody bitter.


	25. A Bar of Chocolate

            There was no school on Sunday, so I went to the park and watch people play basketball.

            There were a lot of people in the park, and I saw a lot of people I knew, so I called them one by one, “Hey, Ced. Hey, Oliver.” They both lived next-door to mine and studied in the same high school as I have.

            Cedric came to me and said, “How’s about a game of basketball?”

            But whenever it was my turn, no matter how hard I throw, the ball just wouldn’t go into the net. Cedric took the ball from me and said, “Get outta here, Ron. You’re too stupid to play with.”

            So I had to sit aside and watch them play. Cedric was really good. He always got the ball into the net. But too bad there’s a hole under the net and it kept falling out, so he had to keep throwing.

            Suddenly I realized that I haven’t eaten breakfast. No wonder my stomach was so hungry. I stood up, patted my pants and said to Cedric, “I’ll come later after breakfast, Ced.”

            Cedric was still throwing the ball and didn’t reply. He must be very angry at the hole under the net to not talk to me.

            On the way home, I met Tom Riddle, the guy who hit me with his motorcycle the other day. He was always wearing that pair of green rain boots and had a towel around his neck. Whenever he comes for waffles, he would always ask for an extra spoonful of maple syrup with a small stick of butter on top, and black coffee to go.

            Tom saw me and said, “Yo, egghead. Why aren’t you at school?”

            I glared at him and said, “There’s no school on Sunday, the professor said so.”

            I was still a little angry with him for hitting me.

            “Don’t be so grouchy,” Tom laughed out loud. His teeth were small and he had fangs. Maybe he’s a vampire like in TV, but vampires don’t walk around in the morning. Maybe he’s a snake pretending to be human. I never asked him about that. He patted my head and said, “How about helping me with a little task, eh?”

            I asked him, “What task?”

            He led me to the park wall and pointed at a pile of bricks, saying, “If you help me push the cart, Uncle Riddle will give you something real nice.”

            But I don’t know how to push a cart. Tom said, “It’s way easy. Even a retard can do it.”

            I thought, since I’m a retard, then I should be able to do it.

            Tom stooped down and put a brick into the cart, and then another, then another…after putting them in, he stood up and told me to push the cart.

            “Push it slowly and don’t let it fall. Push the cart all the way to that big tree over there, take out all the bricks and stack them up neatly and you’re all done. See? Wasn’t that easy?” Tom said as he wiped the sweat off his face.

            So I pushed it real carefully. The cart was really heavy. Every time I moved, the cart would fall sideways. Tom came to me and helped me hold the cart straight and said, “Take it easy, son. You’ll get the hang of it once you’ve walked a few more times.”

            I pushed it all the way to the big tree, took out the bricks and stacked them neatly on the ground. Tom yelled from the wall he was standing at, saying, “Alright! That should do it! Come back here and get some more!”

            I went back to get some more bricks, and this time the cart didn’t fall sideways. I was very glad. I felt very smart. I decided to tell Harry Scarface tomorrow that I am good at moving bricks and I am good at pushing carts.

            Cedric was coming out of the park with his ball in his hand and he was looking at me weirdly. He asked, “What the heck are you doing moving bricks?”

            I replied, “Tom taught me. If you want to, I can let you move some. It’s so easy, even a retard can do it.”

            Cedric threw the ball in the air and caught it again, saying, “You are such a dumbass. You don’t even know Tom’s using you!” After that he went back in to play ball again.

            I pushed all the leftover bricks to the tree. Tom was sitting on his motorcycle and was checking his fangs with the mirror. He said, “All done?”

            I nodded.

            “Very good. Uncle Riddle always keeps his word. Here’s something for you,” he licked his fangs a little and took out a bar of chocolate from his pocket.

            “This is a very expensive brand of chocolate, all the way from France. See the French words on it?” he said as he showed it to me. He was right. I did see French words on it, just like the ones in the textbook during French class. I opened the bar of chocolate and ate it. I was really hungry, and moving bricks and sweating made it worse.

            “Tastes good, doesn’t it?” Tom asked as he wrapped the towel around his neck.

            I nodded.

            Tom said again, “Next time I’ll ask you to help me move them again.” So I agreed.

            But the next day, Harry Scarface told me not to go help Tom Riddle to do his dirty work. I tried to tell him that the bricks weren’t that dirty, and it was very easy to clean off my hands, but Harry Scarface said I just didn’t get it.

            I really didn’t.


	26. Ginny Fell Down

            My sister Ginny Weasley is a very fierce girl. She’s fierce to me and she’s fierce to Mother and Father. But if she had nice things to eat, she would let me have some. Like last week, when she bought a bag of cookies, she let me have one. So I was never angry with her. Mother would always say, “Your sister is the closest to you in the whole wide world, so if your Father and I die, you’ll have to depend on her.”

            And when Ginny heard that, she would say, “Why am I always the unlucky one?”

            Father would scold her, saying, “This family is created and brought together by fate. You must cherish it.”

            Ginny would scowl and would look very ugly when she said, “Then my fate is just friggin’ cruddy. Why can’t the other brothers have their share of being unlucky? Why does it have to be me?”

            Mother sighed and shook her head, saying, “Your other brothers left the house as soon as they knew they could get away with murder. They never really cared about your brother Ron, not even at the minute he was born and was diagnosed that he was mentally disabled. All they thought about was traveling, being powerful and earning money. You’re the only one left who actually puts up with Ron. And don’t think that you’re smart you can just talk back at us. Your brother Ron maybe dumb but he’s obedient. He’s far better than you are.”

            Ginny would stop talking and glared at me.

            To tell the truth, I have a lot of older brothers before Ginny. But they’ve all moved out of the house one by one as soon as they finished high school. Bill and Charlie went off traveling—Mother said they were trying to be the next Jeff Corwin or Steve Irwin the Crocodile Hunter—and Percy went off trying to be the next President Bush. Fred and George didn’t finish high school all the way. They stopped somewhere in the middle and decided to be the next Donald Trump. Why did Mother compare them with people from TV, I’ll never know. I remembered very little about them anyway. I remembered Bill and Charlie being very adventurous and liked to read books on animals never been caught or found, and Percy having many posters of very important people that often came on in the news on his wall. The most I remembered was Fred and George. They were very naughty kids and liked to play practical jokes on just about everyone, but they never let me join in the fun. In fact, they were the ones who laughed at me and played practical jokes on me the most among all my brothers. Percy was cold and never let me in his room—chased me out the last time I sneaked in to look at the posters on his wall—and Bill and Charlie were just too busy to pay any attention to me, and when they see me touching their books they would go running to complain to Mother. After Fred and George left, I’ve never seen any of them since, well, except during Thanksgiving and Christmas dinner, and then they’ll leave almost immediately the next morning. They never stay more than one day.

            Ginny also told Mother that she would never study in the same high school as mine because she was afraid she wouldn’t have any friends. When Mother heard it, she got angry and said, “Which is more important, the outside or your brother? Don’t you think it’s cruel that even _you_ don’t look out for your brother? What do you learn at school anyway?”

            Whenever we go out, Ginny would warn me quietly, “Don’t let anyone else know I’m your sister. Keep the hell away from me!”

            So I never dared to stand any closer to her.

            One Saturday afternoon, Mother made some chocolate waffles and packed a basket of fruit and told us to bring it to our aunt’s place. Ginny walked all the way to a corner and gave me the box of waffles while she held the basket of fruit. She told me that she wanted to walk in front.

            We walked past the park and saw someone playing ball. It was Cedric. He saw me and asked me to play with him, but I shook my head and said, “I can’t. Ginny and I…” Then I remembered that Ginny didn’t like me talking about her, so I said instead, “I have to bring these waffles to my aunt. Just me, not Ginny.”

            Ginny was in front of me and walked very fast, but she heard me and glared at me. What did I say wrong? What else am I supposed to say?

            When Ginny was about to turn around and continue walking, she suddenly slipped. She fell all the way to the ground and the fruit in the basket rolled all over the place.

            I quickly ran towards her, but Ginny said not to go near her. So I ran back to where I was before.

            I stood beside the seesaw at the park, not knowing what to do.

            Ginny seemed rather painful as she rubbed her knee. She had one hand on the ground and looked like she was trying to get up. I cheered her on inside my heart and hope that she could get up. But she never made it. She rubbed her knee, then rubbed her eyes. Oh no! She looked like she was crying. I said in my heart: _Don’t cry, Ginny._

            I stood there holding my waffles and watched Ginny. The fruit were still rolling out of her basket and there were other kids watching her. I was angry. I scolded them in my mind: _What are you looking at? Never seen someone fall down before?_

            Finally, Ginny got up. She picked up the fruit one by one and put them into her basket and slowly continued walking. I quickly followed behind her.

            When we passed by the church, I looked around and made sure that there was no one around before going up to Ginny and asked, “Does it hurt?”

            “It hurts real bad,” Ginny replied, her eyes and nose looking very red. She held her knee and said, “It might be bleeding.”

            I said, “Let me carry the basket for you.” So she gave me her basket.

            “You should’ve picked me up when you saw me fell, stupid!” Ginny scolded me.

            I get it. I can be her brother again if she fell down.

            I said, “I’ll pick you up if you fall down next time.”

            “Are you cursing me?” Ginny glared at me, but she was also smiling at the same time.

            Suddenly I had a wish that Ginny could fall down more, so that I can be her brother more.


	27. I Have A Future

            There was a fly flying around the shop. Mother told me to get rid of it. I grabbed a fly swat and chased him around wherever it flew. Finally it stopped on the light bulb on the ceiling, so I sat there and waited.

            Mother said, “Even the fly is picking on you, love.”

            She took a cloth and stood beside the waffle-making machine. The mixer was turning round and round, mixing the ingredients together and the waffle-making machine was cooking the latest batch she poured in. Both machines were making a lot of noise and Mother just stood there listening to them.

            Bloody hell, that fly flew away before I even got to hit it. I scolded, “Bloody stupid fly.”

            Mother stopped listening to the machine. She turned to me and shook her head, saying, “Now that your Father and I are looking after you, you should be of no problem. If one day both of us went to Heaven, what would happen to you?”

            Mother often said those words. I asked her before what ‘Heaven’ meant, and she said ‘Heaven’ is where dead people go, and dead people means people who sleep forever, which is a very, very long time, and won’t be able to cook or make waffles.

            That’s a nightmare! What would I do if I get hungry?

            “Good day, Mrs. Weasley. You busy?” It was Cedric’s father coming into the waffle shop.

            Mother smiled and said, “Too bad there’s no customers to be busy with. All we’re having here are mosquitoes and flies.”

            I always thought Mother liked to lie. We don’t serve mosquitoes and flies; we hit and get rid of them. But I couldn’t say that to Mr. Diggory.

            Mr. Diggory didn’t realize he was being lied to, in fact, he said, “You must be so relaxed and lucky for having mosquitoes and flies for customers. Unlike me, I had to work all day till now to even have time for lunch.”

            Mr. Diggory was a coach and he goes to big fields to train professional basketball players.

            As Mother made waffles, she said, “You’re the lucky one to have Cedric as an all-rounder son, what with his athletics and studies and all.”

            “What’s the use of being an all-rounder if you can’t even wash your own socks? I tell you, he works the missus to the bone and treats her like some kind of slave or something. I, on the other hand, have to go shout at boys all day long, and then I come home having to shout at my own boy for being a lazy bone for working his mother to death all night long. It’s the same lecture everyday, I tell you,” Mr. Diggory stopped, took a look at me and asked, “Can Ron do the laundry?”

            Mother said, “All he knows is how to eat.”

            Mother was lying again. I don’t only know how to eat. I know how to do a lot of other things, like taking out the trash, sweeping the floor and getting water for the class.

            Mr. Diggory said, “You have to teach a boy like Ron to do things. Let him learn a trade so that he can depend on that trade to keep food on the table for himself at least.”

            Mother brought the maple syrup waffles to Mr. Diggory and asked, “What can he learn anyway?”

            “You can teach him how to make waffles, dear. You’re a master yourself. If Ron can at least learn how to make waffles, he wouldn’t go hungry for life. Even better, he could even help you out in the shop.”

            “I’ve been a waffle-maker all my life, and I don’t want my next generation to go into the same trade. There’s no future in selling waffles,” Mother said as she sat in front of Mr. Diggory to chitchat.

            Mr. Diggory pointed his fork at Mother, “Well, you can’t expect him to get a PhD degree now, can you? If selling waffles is not his future, what is? Have you thought about that?”

            Mother lowered her head and didn’t say anything. Every time she lowered her head, she would sigh. There was one time when she cried. It was the day when Fred and George left home. I didn’t want to see Mother cry.

            Too bad I didn’t know what ‘future’ meant, or else I could answer for Mother. I could even say, “I already have a future. I have a whole boxful of it!”

            I wonder if ‘future’ comes in boxes. I’m just guessing.

            After a long, long time, Mother looked up and said, “Ron is born slow, and I always try to let him study more and see if he could be smarter. I even spent a lot of money for his tuition.”

            Mr. Diggory asked, “Did that make him any smarter?”

            Mother didn’t say anything again.

            “How about asking him to learn about fixing the roads, or be a janitor, or maybe even be the paperboy. It’s a no-brainer kind of job for Ron. I’m sure he could learn how to do any of those things.”

            Mother didn’t wait for Mr. Diggory to finish as she stood and went to the back to do the dishes.

            “OK, OK, Mrs. Weasley. I won’t say anymore to offend you. I know I’m a little outspoken, and I say what I feel, but that doesn’t mean I don’t respect your son Ronald,” Mr. Diggory held up one hand while drinking his ice-cold orange juice with another. “I’m just giving some options here to lighten your burden a little, and all I’m saying is that every dog has its day and what comes around, goes around. Be a little open-minded and don’t worry too much about Ron.”

            Mother replied, “If Ron can be an all-rounder like Cedric, I don’t have to be worried right now.”

            Mr. Diggory finished his waffles and orange juice, wiped his mouth and left the shop.

            Mother came out and cleared the dishes. I was still there holding my fly swat, not sure what to swat at, what with the fly gone and all.

            Mother was listening to the noise of the machines again.


	28. I Don't Want to Be A Patient

            We were all gathered in the field today and shouted some weird words. Those words sounded funny but I couldn’t laugh, ‘coz we were in the middle of scouts’ class.

            Hermione Granger was in the same group as mine and she was the team leader. The scoutmaster told her to look after me, and so she did. Every time she would stand beside me and would help me out with a lot of things.

            The scoutmaster told us to cut a piece of flag from some coloured paper and stick it on our exercise book. Hermione quickly stuck hers, took my coloured paper and said, “I’ll help you draw the flag and you cut it.”

            She used a triangle ruler to draw the shape of the flag and then gave it to me. I took up my scissors and was ready to cut it.

            “Be careful, Ronald. Don’t cut it all crooked. Follow the pencil lines,” Hermione kept yelling as she watched. I wanted to be careful, but I just couldn’t. Almost immediately, I cut out of the line.

            “Stop, stop, stop. Here, let me cut it for you,” Hermione took the paper away from me. After cutting, it really looked like a nice little flag. I thought she was very smart. She said, “Now you glue it onto your book.”

            So I poured the glue and put it on the flag. But she exclaimed, “No, silly! You should be putting the glue at the back!” Then she took the flag and said, “Never mind, I’ll do it for you.”

            She then helped me stick my flag onto my book. I looked the flag on my book and thought that it would be great if I could stick it on my own. But then again, I’m a retard, so maybe retards can’t cut flags.

            The scoutmaster then taught us how to bandage wounds. She said, “If you get hurt, you must use a clean bandage and wrap it around the wound nicely.”

            So we all started practicing. The scoutmaster said everyone must give it a try because it is very useful in life.

            Hermione told me to hold up my hand and be a patient for everyone to practice on. I held out my hand and pretended to be hurt. Hermione used a really long bandage and wrapped it around my hand. I felt ticklish and laughed.

            “Don’t move,” Hermione scolded.

            So I stopped moving and held my hand out very straight.

            Then it was someone else’s turn to practice. My hand was getting tired. I told them to hurry up, but Hermione said, “Take it easy. You must get it right.”

            It was then Parvati Patil’s turn. She was very slow when she wound the bandage round and round my hand. The scoutmaster said, “You can go a little faster, or your patient is going to bleed to death.”

            Everyone had their chance. I said, “My turn.”

            Hermione asked, “Can you do it? It’s quite tough, you know.”

            I took the bandage and started wrapping Parvati Patil’s hand. Parvati said, “You got it wrong. You have to wrap it clockwise.”

            I didn’t know what ‘clockwise’ meant, but I wrapped real hard. I wanted to wrap the bandage round and round just like everyone else, and then tie a nice big bow at the end.

            But Parvati Patil let out a yell and pulled her hand away, saying, “That hurts, you know! Why did you pinch my hand for?”

            Hermione took the bandage away from me and said, “It’s alright, Ronald, you don’t have to do it. I’ll report it to the scoutmaster so you don’t need to be tested.”

            I didn’t want to be tested. I just want to learn how to bandage. Last time, Ginny’s knee was bleeding when she fell down. If I could learn how bandage, I can do it for her, and I can even tie a nice big pretty bow at the end. But Hermione told me to hold up my leg so that they could practice bandaging it. So I raised my leg and let them have their way with my leg.

            After that it was my head.

            Then my shoulders.

            I became the patient the whole day and let them bandage me here and there.

            But I never said a word. I watched real hard and tried to learn. Later I could use my own handkerchief to wrap my own leg.

            But what does it mean by ‘clockwise’? The scoutmaster said sometime about ‘bandage clockwise’, so I was wondering if they sell that kind of bandage in the mall.

            After scout class, Hermione patted my shoulder and asked, “It’s great being in the same group as me now, isn’t it, Ronald? Don’t worry, I’ll help you do everything. See? You get to be the patient the entire period. Isn’t it easy?”

            I said it was easy, but I didn’t tell her that I didn’t want to be a patient.


	29. Number One in Love

            Today Prof. McGonagall looked very happy. She was in all smiles even when she was talking.

            She said, “Class, we are only a small step away from being the first in ‘Never-ending Gift of Love Donation’ among all the first years.”

            So we clapped our hands.

            A few days ago, Hermione started collecting ‘love-money’, and I gave her a dollar. Prof. McGonagall had said, “We have a lot of unfortunate people in our society who need our help, so everyone should save up their pocket money and do them a little charity.” And also at the same time, the ‘Never-ending Gift of Love Donation’ had a contest. The class with the most donations will receive a prize. The person who donated the most would also get a prize.

            I went home to ask Mother for some money, so she gave me a dollar.

            I gave my dollar to Hermione, and she said, “Only a dollar of love, Ronald? That’s too little.”

            But I can’t help it if Mother only gave me a dollar of love.

            Draco had a lot of love. He took out a five hundred dollar note from his pocket and said, “Five hundred dollars is nothing to me. A high-classed dinner in a eight-star hotel is worth more than five hundred dollars.”

            Hermione exclaimed, “Wow! We’ve got almost more than a thousand!” Even Prof. McGonagall was smiling as she said, “Our class is definitely the class with the most love.”

            I wanted to give more love, but Mother said she only had more than enough worry and no extra love to give.

            The next day, Draco brought another five hundred dollars to school. He said, “I am the most compassionate person in class. Just thinking about those poor, unfortunate people still existing in this world with no food to eat makes me unable to stomach even my favourite smoked salmon.” So saying, he took out a hanky and pretended to wipe tears from his eyes.

            Hermione scolded him, “Stop being so disgusting. Just hand over the money.”

            “Hey, don’t forget. I donated the most, so be prepared with my prize,” Draco reminded as he gave the money to Hermione.

            Harry Scarface suddenly said, “Draco should get the prize for this year’s Best Class Jester. What’s so great about having a little stinking money?”

            “I’m sorry, but my money smells better than you think,” Draco walked over to Harry Scarface’s seat with his hands on his waist, then fiercely slapped his table and said, “Say that one more time if you got the guts.”

            Harry Scarface looked up and glared at him, “The world has more important things than money, and it’s just too bad you don’t have it.”

            Draco said, “What does that suppose to mean?”

            Hermione came in between them and said angrily, “You boys start fighting again and I’m going to report it to the professor.”

            Harry Scarface ignored Hermione and continued, “People like you would never get any prize.”

            Draco glared real sharply at him and said, “We’ll just see about that.” So saying, he walked back to his seat.

            The next day, Draco gave another one thousand dollars. Hermione counted the money in the box and told Prof. McGongall, “We have about four thousand six hundred and sixty dollars.”

            Prof. McGonagall thought for a while, then took out some money from her wallet and said, “I’ll donate some money and make it a round sum.”

            Soon our class became more and more with love. Prof. McGonagall said, “Now we’re a hundred dollars away from Ravenpuff.”

            Just a little bit more and we’ll be the first in love among the entire first years. Hermione asked the class, “We are First Year-Slytherdor, and not only we are both cunning and courageous, we are also smart and loving, are we not?”

            Everyone said, “Yes.”

            I said it too.

            Draco turned to me and said, “Hey, Weasley, you’re the one with the least donation of love. You have no right to be in the smart and loving Slytherdor.”

            But I don’t know which class I should be with.

            Hermione continued, “Let’s give out some more love tomorrow and the prize would be a no-brainer for this class.”

            “Don’t waste your breath, sweetheart. I’ll donate another five hundred tomorrow,” Draco suddenly raised his hand as he said this.

            In the end, our class did get the prize. Prof. McGonagall was happy and my classmates were happy. I was happy too. I clapped real hard, and I laughed.

            Headmaster Dumbledore called out Draco’s name and he went up the stage to get his prize. Headmaster Dumbledore said, “I am so happy that every one of us can contribute so much love for the unfortunate. Like what they always said ‘A little kindness goes a long, long way’.”

            I didn’t know why Headmaster Dumbledore meant about going ‘a long, long way’, but I’m sure Draco must’ve walked a lot and walked a ‘long, long way’ to get this prize. So I clapped and laughed for him.

            But Harry Scarface didn’t clap.


	30. Words I'll Never Understand

            One day, Harry Scarface said to me, “If you’re not a retard, your days would be so much different than what you’re going through right now, you get me?”

            Nope.

            “If you are just like us, then no one would ever bully you. You can be just like everybody else: studying, writing, playing ball, fighting…”

            I said, “The professor said we shouldn’t fight.”

            Harry Scarface laughed, “I don’t mean that. If you could fight like everyone else, that means you are equals. Well, at least mentally, there’s no comparison between who’s the hero and who’s the bastard.”

            I then said, “Mother said we should not say the word ‘bastard’.”

            Harry Scarface stopped talking. He looked at me and kept on smiling.

            I asked, “What are you smiling at?”

            Harry Scarface replied, “Actually, to be honest, smart people aren’t really any happier than a retard. Did you know that?”

            How am I supposed to know?

            I said, “Being a retard ain’t that good.”

            Harry Scarface asked, “And what’s so bad about being a retard?”

            “Can’t write good English.”

            “And?”

            “Can’t do Math.”

            “What else?”

            I thought really hard, but I couldn’t think of anything ‘coz I’ve forgotten what else the school has in exams. So I said, “There’s a lot more. I dunno how to say it.”

            “Life is not all about language and science,” Harry Scarface replied, then patted my shoulder and asked, “What do you want to be in the future?”

            I shook my head, “I don’t know.”

            Harry Scarface said, “Same here. We’ll see what comes up.” He thought for a while, then said, “I will always be your best friend, and forever your boyfriend.”

            I nodded my head and replied, “Me too.”

            Then one day, a professor I didn’t know told me she wanted to ‘interview’ me, so I followed her to the office to be interviewed.

            She had a very nice voice when she spoke, asking, “Ronald Weasley, what do you hate the most in school?”

            I thought for a while, then said, “I don’t hate anything.”

            “Really?”

            Oh, it finally crossed my mind, so I said, “I hate rainy days. It gets my shoes all wet.”

            The professor shook her head and said, “I don’t mean that. Is there anyone who bullies you or scold you that makes you very angry?”

            I nodded.

            She asked, “Who?”

            I replied, “Mother always scolds me and tells me to hurry up with the bathing.”

            “I don’t mean that,” the professor shook her head again.

            I didn’t know what else to say, so I shut up.

            In the end, the professor rubbed my head and said, “Next time if anyone cross your path, you must report to your professor, or you can come to the counseling room and look for me, OK?”

            I nodded my head. But I didn’t know what ‘cross my path’ means. Is it something to do with people passing me by? Why do I have to report to the teacher about people passing me by?

            I think everyone likes to do some strange things. It’s really a bother.

            Harry Scarface said, “If there were more retards in this world, what would it be like? The problem with today is that there are just simply too much smart people.”

            I nodded and smiled.

            Harry Scarface also smiled. He moved over to me, looked around for a while with his green eyes and gave me a kiss, saying, “Don’t worry if you don’t understand. There are a lot of times when you’re happier if you don’t understand things.”

            I’m a retard. And I’m happy.

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry it had to end this way, but this entire fic only speaks about Ron’s years in high school and this final chapter speaks about the final days of Ron as a high school student. You’ll have to assume and use your imagination about what’s going to happen during the rest of Ron’s life, whether he gone to college or go straight to work or even the upcoming relationship between him and Harry.


End file.
